Real Value
by Snark-N-Moon
Summary: Sending Gizmoduck off to pick up an expensive artifact for an upcoming exhibit, Scrooge McDuck finds his life turning upside down as he is left to deal with the Beagle Boys on his own. -Scrooge McDuck and Fenton Crackshell shipping fic; McCrack-
1. Assets

Scrooge McDuck frowned as he took out his pocket watch for the fifth time within the past three minutes, bringing the golden memento to his ear just to make sure it was still working. A sudden gust of lingering winter air caused his mood to sour more, as he looked at the watch in disgust.

"He's late, " the old mallard grumbled, shoving his ticking device back into his pocket as he looked over the scenery- scanning to see if McDuck could spot anyone on the empty stretch of blacktop. Seeing no one, it caused him to growl again in frustration. "What about 'meet me at the airport- six on the dot' doesn't that lump o' lughead understand? Time is money- MY money!"

It was getting to the point Scrooge was seriously contemplating ordering Duckworth, his personal driver and butler, to go and fetch the lad he was waiting for- and docking the price of gas from the late employee's own paycheck- when just the duck he had been waiting for made himself known as he ran across the runway.

"It's about time, ye lunderhead. What, for goldurn's sake, took ya so long Fenton?!" The old duck readjusted their hat, another gust of wind knocking it askew. "For somebody good at countin', you seem tae have no luck wit' telling time."

"Sorry, Mister McDuck!" Fenton apologized between gasping for air. It had been quite the morning; a mad dash and a lot of scrambling around since his boss had called him while he was still slumbering, instructing him to be at the airport in an hour.

He still didn't know why he was there, but it wasn't his job to ask those sort of questions.

"Would you believe I missed my taxi? I ran after it for over a mile; boy those guys drive fast!"

Scrooge eyed the dishevelled duck in front of him. His hair was messier than usual, his tie was askew, and he had missed a few buttons on his shirt.

"Aye, I would. Did ya manage to catch it?" Scrooge was quickly growing impatient with the idle chit-chat and pleasantries, and Crackshell's tardiness didn't allow for any to begin with.

"No..." Fenton shook his head, and plucked an errant twig from his hair, flicking it away. "But I did manage to hitch a ride on the front of a fourteen wheeler!"

Scrooge actually smiled at that.

"Ah, good lad! It's cheaper that way, anyway. Now, let's get down to business..." the old mallard leaned in to whisper, despite the fact they were completely alone. "You did remember to bring the _you-know-what_ , I hope?"

It was Fenton's turn to smile as he brought up the suitcase he had sat on the ground, previously ignored by his boss. He tapped it with his hand confidently.

"Sure did, hardly leave home without it these days. Never know when," it was the younger duck's turn to lean in and whisper," _you-know-who might be needed._ Uh, speaking of which… just why AM I here? Not that I don't like a good mystery like any other duck, but I'm totally STUMPED here. See, first I thought maybe I was picking up some criminals. But gee, that would be positively ludacris! Gizmoduck keeps criminal creeps OUT of Duckburg, not roll out the red carpet for 'em!"

"Fenton.." Scrooge growled, trying to get the other's attention. However, he was ignored as Crackshell continued with his rambling.

"And so then I thought, maybe I'm meeting a special somebody. The cream of the crop, a star! Like, Angelina Goatlee, Brad Pig! Or maybe even Walt Frisby himself!" Fenton's smile slipped as he began mumbling to himself. "Aw, and here I am without my autograph book. You think they'd mind if I asked 'em to sign the suit instead? My forehead? What about-?"

" _Fenton!_ "

Scrooge's booming anger echoed across the blacktop, and he had to fight the urge to whack the guy upside the head with his cane. Crackshell didn't flinch, he was used to Scrooge's outbursts by now, but he did stop talking for a second.

"No celebrities, then?"

"No. Now listen carefully. We have a very important, very rare, and most importantly, very _expensive_ artifact being transferred from the Smithsonian all the way up here to Duckburg."

"I see!" Fenton interjected, cheerfully. "And you need me- er, I mean, _you-know-who_ , to make sure said artifact, remains intact! And, un-stolen, to boot, no doubt."

Scrooge fought the urge to pinch his bill in frustration.

" _Aye_ , that would be the point. Now if you'd stop foolin' around, follow me. You got a plane to catch!"

* * *

Hours later, across town and on the outskirts of Duckburg, Burger Beagle licked his chops as he watched his mother mix the ingredients for one of her infamous cakes. The grown mutt was practically salivating as he tried to sneak a finger into the batter to steal just the teeniest and tiniest of tastes. However, he was instead met with a fierce swat of a wooden spoon- Burger flinching back in pain.

"YOWCH!"

"And that's whatcha get, too." Ma Beagle said angrily, threatening her son with another wave of the spoon. "And if ya keep that up, I may jus' clobber ya real good next time. You KNOW this cake is for your poindexter of a brother. It's almost Megabyte's birthday, and you know his ma hasn't seen him in ages."

"Yeah," Burger began with a whimper, giving his best puppy dog eyes that he could muster, " but I'm starving. I think I'm gonna die from an empty belly!"

"Oh, would you's be quiet," Big Time, yet another member of the Beagle Boys, shouted from across the room- busy sitting in front of the television. "Some of us is tryin' t'watch some cartoons, here."

"Besides," Ma Beagle interjected, "You just had lunch an hour ago."

This made Burger's frown intensify, this time his voice a full out whine as he stomped his feet and threw an adult-sized tantrum.

"But that was _aaaaages_ ago!"

"Oh, hush," the mother shouted. " If ya keep up all that hollerin'', I won't make ya yer own cake after this one like I _planned_ to!"

This was enough to send the goodie-craving mutt slouching down until he was barely peeking over the table.

"I'll be good..."

Satisfied, Ma Beagle continued stirring. She glanced at the clock, and then over to her boy in front of the television set.

"Big Time, be a dear and switch that over to the news, would ya? I wanna make sure those nosey news casters got my good side."

"Aw Maw, do I have ta?"

The glass bowl that was hurled at his head, missing by inches, and shattering against the wall, was all the answer he needed. He swiftly changed the channel. Ma Beagle, however, grumbled as she realized that meant she's have to start another batch of batter all over again. See, this was always why she needed to remember to double her recipe- just in case… _accidents_ happened.

The old woman was busy getting out the ingredients all over again, as her ears suddenly perked up when the familiar voice of a certain reporter filled the cabin.

'Hellwo, this is ace weporter Webra Walters bwinging you yet another Gizmoduck sighting. For many months now there has been talk awound town of Scwooge McDuck- the wowld's wichest duck and sometimes phiwanthwopist- has been pwanning a new special exhibit for Duckburg's Museum Spwing opening. "

Ma Beagle and her boys booed, just the name of the ancient duck being enough to make them want to break things. Webra Walters- being on tv and completely ignorant of her aggressive audience- continued her reporting as the dog woman patted the side of her permed hair straight.

"Well, mystewy no more! Pwess coverege fwom Washington, DC shows Gizmoduck picking up some cwate fwom the famous Smithsonian. Excitement is in the air ower wumors that it might be the notowious wuby web swippers of Dorothy fwom ' _the Wizard of Oz'_. Either way, stay tuned as this weporter gets the scoop fwom our city's number one herwo himself!"

It was then that Ma Beagle turned off the tv, no longer needing to hear anything else as a scheme began to form in her mind. She rubbed her mitts deviously together as she grinned mischievously.

"Hear that, boys? Sounds like Scroogey sent his robo dimwitt out of town on an errand. You know what that means, doncha?"

It was Bouncer Beagle, one of the taller boys that was busy sharpening his knife that gave a lazy answer.

"No more bad puns?"

Big Time rolled his eyes.

"No, stupid, it means a new pair of ruby slippers for Ma when Gizmodork brings the goods back into town."

"You're both wrong," their mother said angrily, as she placed her hands on her hips as she couldn't believe she raised a bunch of small time thugs. "It means nobody to guard McDuck's money-bin! With Gizmoduck outta the way, it'll be a cakewalk!"

"Did somebody say 'cake'?!"

"UGH, AFTER we rob the old geezer, Burger!"

* * *

The sun was setting over Duckburg, blanketing the buildings in hues of orange. One building in particular stood in sunset's radiance, its fiery hues glinting and reflecting off of the gigantic dollar sign welded to the front of said building.

To Scrooge, not a whole lot could top that level of beauty. He sat in his chair, gazing out at his money-bin, dreamily.

"Uncle Scrooge?"

Scrooge flinched, and spun around in his chair, only to see his three nephews standing on the balcony. He gave them a stern eye, but wasn't able to muster anything more in the wake of their somber expressions.

"What are you three doing up? It's past your bedtime!" He walked around his desk and made his way toward the stairs, preparing to herd them back to their bedroom.

The boys, however, weren't quite ready to head to bed, as they easily dodged their guardian's hands. Scrooge turned around in a huff as the boys made it down the stairs and back towards the old duck's desk where he had started from. Louie was the first to speak up.

"Aren't you worried about Gizmoduck being away for so long?"

"Yeah," Dewey chipped in, " he's been gone for AGES!"

"Who knows WHAT kind of things all the bad guys can get up to while he's gone!" Huey cried.

Their great uncle, having made his way down the steps, found his glare softening as he could tell his nephews were genuinely concerned.

"Now now, there's nothing t'worry about. This isn't Saint Canard- loonies just don't pop up left n' right causing trouble. Most we got are petty thieves like those no account Beagles runnin' around n' tryin' t'steal from people." Scrooge plopped down in his chair as he swirled it around to face the children before continuing. "And even then, the police can handle 'em on their own. Did long before Gizmoduck, n' will long after he's gone."

The kids didn't seemed convinced of this, as the red shirt triplet pointed out the window and at Scrooge's bin.

"Yeah, and what about your money bin? Part of Gizmoduck's job is to guard it! Arentcha worried about THAT?"

"Why worry?" Scrooge smiled, and pointed his cane toward the window. "As long as I have me money-bin in sight, I see no reason why I can't protect it myself in Gizmoduck's absence.

Huey's eyes lit up.

"You mean the Masked Mallard will protect it, right? With one of these, and one of those! And a few of these, too!" the young duck threw playful punches at the air to his right. Scrooge chuckled, and shook his head.

"No, Huey. The Masked Mallard is retired for good. Plain 'ol Scrooge McDuck will have t'do. Now, about that bedtime..."

"But... but, how will you know!" Louie whined.

"Yeah! Y'can't watch your bin all the time! When will you sleep?" Dewey enquired. These boys weren't going without a fight.

"Yer right, and I won't have tae." With another turn and a point of his cane, the old mallard pointed across the room where a new bell that the children had never saw before was currently taking up space. "Not with that lil' beaut, anyhow. Had Gyro hook it up this morning for practically pennies. With nobody to guard me bin, I thought a new security system was in order. This way if anybody even gets NEAR the building, I'll be the first t'know."

The lads wilted some, trying to make final arguments.

"But a bird or a deer could easily set it off!"

Scrooge shrugged.

"Better safe than sorry." This time the great uncle was having no more of it, and easily scooped the three ducklings into his arms- and one over his shoulder- as the old duck marched up the stairs. "Now, worry all ya want. But if you're gonna be doing it, you'll be doing in your beds!"

McDuck had just made it up the stairs when he dropped the children in a jolt, as the security system blared to life.

"BLOW ME BAGPIPES! The bell, the alarm… MY MONEY!"

Scrooge only barely registered the kids' cries of "See! We told you so!" as he raced through the house and toward the front door.

"Duckworth!" Scrooge bellowed as he threw his jacket on. The butler emerged from the hallway, dressed in his night clothes and slippers, already roused from sleep from the blaring alarm.

"Right away, sir. I'll warm up the car."

Scrooge McDuck was just about to open the front door of the house, when he stopped as he heard the pattering of footsteps behind him. The old drake turned around with a glare, as he noticed that his young nephews had also thrown on coats and looked like they were planning on leaving with him. The uncle crossed his arms, standing his ground as he blocked the exist.

"Oooh no you don't. An' where do ye three lads _think_ you are goin'?"

Louie was the first of the triplets to answer.

"To help out!"

"Yeah," Dewey butted in, just as determined as his brother. "Without Gizmoduck, you're going to need some backup fighting the Beagle Boys!"

"No, and no," the boys groaned as their Uncle Scrooge flat out turned them down. "I've already told ya, I can more than handle their ilk. NOW, what I DO needja t'do is turn around, march up those stairs, and head straight fer bed."

"But, Uncle Scrooge-"

"None of that. Now, with me n' Duckworth gone I'll be needin' somebody t'be looking over things. Keep an eye out n' protect the lasses of the house. Think you lot can handle that responsibility?"

It was obvious that the old duck was not going to budge. And realizing this, the triplets sighed dramatically in defeat.

"Alright, Uncle Scrooge," said Huey sadly.

"Yeah, we'll be good." Louie added.

"Woodchuck's honor." Was Dewey's final word on the matter, before the three boys did their salute towards their uncle. This made Scrooge chuckle, despite his anxieties over his bin.

"Good, I'll be sure t'tuck you boys in when I return. Goodnight."

It with that Scrooge McDuck ran out the house and to his waiting car- its engines purring as it was ready to speed off into the night. However, if he had stayed longer or at least looked back, he would have seen Huey, Dewey, and Louie remove their other hands from behind their backs- showing their fingers crossed. They giggled mischievously, before they too snuck their way out of the house to retrieve their bikes from the garage.

If they hurried and pedaled fast enough, maybe they wouldn't miss too much of the good parts.

* * *

Scrooge's money-bin loomed menacingly large in the moonlight, but menacing didn't deter the four menaces who stood before it.

"There it is, boys. Scrooge McDuck's money-bin! We've finally struck it rich." Ma Beagle rubbed her hands together, eyes glinting.

"But uuuh, how are we supposed t'get inside? There's a big door in the way!" Bouncer Beagle questioned, testing its endurance by ramming into it, shoulder-first. Of course he merely bounced off of it, with nothing more to show for it than a sore shoulder.

"And it's locked, too."

"Not for long!" Big Time replied, leaning against their car and grinning, casually tossing a bundle of dynamite up and down in one hand. "We got enough of this stuff t'blow the whole thing sky-high!"

"Oh, but wouldn't it be harder t'get the money if we have to get it from way up there?" Burger asked as he looked up worriedly at the sky. " We's don't even _own_ a plane!"

Ma Beagle facepalmed in frustration, before barking at her dimwitted son.

"Oh, just shut up already and start unpacking the T.N.T. No telling how much time we got until Scroogey decides to show up!"

It didn't take long for the Beagle family to unpack all the T.N.T in the car and place it in front of the building. Stacks upon stacks of explosives piled up in front of the door, just ready to be used. Ma Beagle dusted her hands off in satisfaction, before turning to her boys.

"Alright, which of you got the lever for these bad boys?"

The three criminals exchanged expectant glances.

"Uhh, I thought _you_ brought it..."

" _Me?_ I told YOU to grab it!"

"I thought SOMEone got it..."

Ma Beagle slapped her forehead and growled. She should have been used to this sort of thing by now.

"Well ONE of you dunderheads better have grabbed it!" she hissed, trudging over to the car and rummaging through the remaining junk in the car.

She didn't have much time to look, before the screeching of tires caused her, and her three boys, to jump up in alarm. The first thought in her mind was that that rolling hunk of scrap metal had come back early.

"I had a feeling it was you no good Beagle Boys, " a familiar and scottish voice cried from the parked limo, before a very short and very enraged duck burst from it. Scrooge McDuck continued, raising his cane and ready to fight. "Stay away from me money-bin!"

"Oh yeah, " the mother of the gang was the first to speak up from her own car, not the least bit worried. "You and what army?"

"Yeah, " Big Time chipped in, continuing the mocking, "We's know all about your robo-bodyguard being outta town. No way you can takes on all of us!"

The old duck had made his way closer to the gang, as the men surrounding him. Scrooge looked them over, not at all impressed.

"I'll be taking that bet."

And with that McDuck was off, his Scottish fury propelling him straight at the nearest Beagle Boy. He swung his cane, feeling instant satisfaction as it hit home right upside Bouncer's head. The tall mutt fumbled, and the old duck took the opportunity to swipe his cane at his feet- sending him crashing. Scrooge didn't have much time to celebrate as he quickly ducked, Big Time having snuck up on him and started throwing punches.

"Would ya hold still? I'm tryin' t'clobber ya here!"

"Fat chance of that!" Scrooge retorted. The old mallard ducked again and slid away, just in time to avoid being bear hugged by Burger Beagle, who lost his footing and landed on top of his smaller brother.

"Well that takes care of that." Scrooge grumbled, dusting off his shirt and looking around, the Beagle Boys in a pile behind him. "Now where's-"

Scrooge spotted Ma Beagle waving at him from approximately ten yards away. What sat at the ground at her feet made his blood run cold.

"It's over, Scroogey! Your money's ours now!" Ma Beagle cackled, and prepared to press the lever that would detonate the explosives.

Scrooge looked between Ma Beagle and the explosives stacked around the door of his bin, and time seemed to slow down. With that much dynamite, he'd be lucky to have a bin left standing at all. Time only seemed to slow down even more as he broke and began running full tilt toward the crazed woman with the detonator.

"WOW, now THAT'S a lot of dynamite!"

McDuck, however, found himself stopping with a jolt as he heard a familiar voice from behind him. Turning himself fast enough to give himself whiplash, the old money pincher gasped at the sight of his great-nephews standing by the pile of explosives. Scrooge was in a panic as he could see the lads were beginning to touch the stuff- no doubt thinking they would help their uncle out.

"What in the name o' Davy Jones do you lads think ye are doin'?!" McDuck cried, his scottish accent thick with worry and anger from the boys disobeying him. "Put that down an' get away from there!"

He was running back toward the boys before he knew he was doing it. He was focused on nothing but getting them out of there.

Perhaps that was why he didn't hear Ma Beagle cackling and bidding him a tittering farewell, but Huey, Dewey, and Louie did. Scrooge screeched to a halt as he watched them scatter, alarm in their voices as they yelled something to him he couldn't make out.

What happened next, happened quickly, all at once and in a blur. The world filled with deafening sound, the ground shook, a blast of hot light blinded him, and as quickly as it had been there, there was nothing. Blackness overtook him as chunks of rubble cascaded down upon him.


	2. Growing Interests

The sound of hair spray could be heard before the camera turned towards a middle aged dog woman fixing her big blonde perm. The moment she caught on to the fact she was on air she smiled widely before throwing the can of hairspray somewhere off screen- clearing her throat, her right hand clutched her microphone more securely.

"Hellwo, this is ace weporter Webra Walters live fwom Duckburg airport, where we are waiting for the awwival of our city's most pwominent hero: Gizmoduck. Now as you are aweady aware fwom our news coverage fwom earlier today, we have been covering the story of the attack on Scwooge McDuck's money-bin- where those dastardly Beagle Boys have weft the world's wichest duck hospitalized. We're here now to get the scoop on what Gizmoduck has to say about all of this."

Commotion from others could be heard off screen, as other reporters grew excited. The lady reporter on screen's smile widened as she started speaking again, this time the camera moving off of her and onto a small one-person passenger plane.

"And here he is, folks! The duck of the hour!"

The hatch on the side of the plane had barely opened, and the large robotic mass of the cyber hero had only peeked his head out before he was assaulted by flashing lights; he beamed, no doubt enjoying the loving attention of his fanbase. His smile slipped momentarily from his bill as Webra Walters pulled him out of the plane, and next to her as she began hounding him with questions.

"Gizmoduck, how does it feel to know while you were away that the Beagle Boys made a mess of your town? What do you plan on doing about it- and what are your thoughts on Scwooge McDuck's current situation?"

"I, well, you see Webra…" The hero gave pause as his heroic smile faltered, the reporter's words sinking in. " _Waitaminute_ , what in the blazes are you talking about? I just got here and you're asking me all sorts of confusing questions!"

"Are you telling us that you haven't heard?" The microphone was shoved back into his face.

"Heard? Heard what, for criminy sake? Will someone tell me what I missed already?" Gizmoduck stressed. Webra turned back to the camera.

"You heard it here, folks; not only did Gizmoduck fail to pwotect his employer, but he didn't even _know_ he was in danger."

"Danger!?" Webra was grabbed and hoisted into the air, as the mechanical wonder pleaded with her desperately.

"What happened, where's Mister McDuck? Please, you gotta tell me!" Gizmoduck cleared his throat and put her down as he noticed his voice had begun to sound a lot more like Fenton Crackshell than Gizmoduck.

Webra, losing her tv smile, glared at the hero as she straightened up her orange blouse.

"Where do ya think he is, genius- at Saint Cuthbert's Hospital."

The reporter barely had time to react before Gizmoduck did a hundred and eighty degree turn back inside the plane, picking and thrusting the precious cargo he was supposed to look after into Webra Walter's hands. She gawked as the robotic-duck began talking a million miles per minute.

" _Here-would-you-drop-this-off-at-the-museum-kay-thanks-bye!_ "

Gizmoduck zoomed out of the camera's range, as the man behind the device tried to quickly keep up and turn to follow him. All watched as the hero sped off the lot, shouting as he made his way towards the city.

"I'M COMIN' FOR YA, SCROOGEY!"

The camera slowly turned back towards the reporter, as the screen was filled up with the visage of a very confused woman. Still holding onto the box, she struggled as she tried to bring the microphone back towards her face.

"And, _uh_ , there we have it? Stay tuned as more of the story develops."

* * *

Fenton Crackshell found himself driving all over downtown Duckburg to find the right hospital- his inner workings of his Gizmosuit's GPS only telling him when he was nearing a hospital, not the CORRECT one. It was on the fifth try he finally found the place, nearly breaking down the doors as he rushed into the building and asked the help desk to point him towards McDuck's room.

He didn't expect, however, to be turned away.

"WHATDYA MEAN I CAN'T SEE HIM?!"

The duck receptionist popped her gum, looking bored.

"Sorry sir, but the hospital has rules: no motor vehicles in the lobby."

"But it's not a motor vehicle, it's ME! _Er_ , as in, it's a part of me- well, my suit _really_. Oh, can't you make an exception, _just this once_? I just GOTTA see him!"

The duck's question had been answered when the next thing he knew, security kicked him out of the building for making a scene. Gizmoduck found himself splatting face first onto the sidewalk, as he groaned in frustration.

"Some way to treat a hero- _sheesh_. Fine, Gizmoduck might not be allowed back in… But nothing says Fenton Crackshell can't!"

A quick duck into a nearby alley and an even quicker change later, Fenton Crackshell waltzed back into the hospital, and gave the bored looking receptionist a winning smile.

"Hello! Looking for one Mister Scrooge McDuck. Y'think you might be able to tell me which room he's in?"

The woman gave him a brief glance. "Name?"

"Crackshell, uh, Fenton Crackshell, that is." His fingers drummed impatiently on the counter. She made a few lazy mouse clicks on the computer in front of her.

"Let's see if you're on the allowed guest list. Huey. Dewey. Louie. Gyro." The woman continued to list the names in a tone that could put a grown man to sleep. Fenton slammed his head onto the desk when she got to "Gizmoduck".

He shot up when she finally got to his name, however.

"Fenton Crackshell. Alright. Second floor, room 32B."

Fenton didn't even wait to hear anything else as he made a mad dash for the nearest set of elevators. The middle-aged duck pushed the up button rapidly, before stepping back and impatiently tapping his webbed foot on the tiled ground. Seconds went by, possibly minutes, but to Fenton Crackshell it felt like _hours_. Finally, not being able to stand it anymore, he ran to the set of stairs instead- anything was faster than waiting around.

It hadn't taken him long to get to the second floor, and asking one nurse was all he needed before he made it to ICU. Checking in once again at their desk, Fenton speed-walked the remaining way until he finally made it to 32B.

It took everything in the guy not to just burst the door down as he made his way inside the room. The first thing that greeted him was the sound of heart monitors as a constant beat filled the otherwise silent room. Fenton, suddenly feeling nervous, crept past the restroom and towards the closed blue curtain surrounding the hospital bed. He gulped, as he pulled back the curtain, not exactly sure what to expect.

It surprised him when he saw the likes of Mrs. Beakley and the children- all of them huddled around the window box where they napped- no doubt having been there for hours. Fenton made note to be as quiet as he could, as he scanned the room- his eyes finally landing on the likes of his boss. His stomach cringed painfully, a sudden feeling of nausea and dread hitting him as he noted the tubes that connected to all sorts of machines in a mess that his mind couldn't quite comprehend. Next was the singed feathers and neckbrace, which told the younger duck that there was a much bigger story than a simple 'the Beagle Boys were involved'.

Fenton nearly collapsed onto the floor from grief, as a sudden wave of guilt hit him hard. He couldn't bear to look at Scrooge any longer, but he couldn't look away. He was almost thankful when the tears welled up in his eyes, blurring the scene in front of him.

 _"It's all my fault..."_ he whispered to no one but himself. He quickly wiped his wet eyes on the back of his sleeve when a tiny hand tugged at his shirt.

"Nuh, uh. It's not your fault, Fenton..." Fenton looked down to see the boys had awoken, and now all three stood beside him. Miss Beakley regarded all four of them with a somber expression from across the room, her large belly still being hugged by young Webbigail.

"Yeah, if anything, it's our fault!" Louie added.

"Yeah. If we had listened to Uncle Scrooge, and stayed home like he'd said, he never would have tried to save us and gotten blasted!" Dewey cried out in grief.

More tears formed, and these ones fell, as Fenton bent down and wrapped his arms around the boys. They allowed themselves to be hugged.

"Now, now, let's not play that old blame game. I never was any good at it."

It was then the accountant realized that no one was bothering to be quiet, and Scrooge hadn't moved one bit since he had been there. The knot in Fenton's stomach tightened, and he stood up, finally braving the walk to Scrooge's bedside.

"Blathering blatherskite..." he looked down at the sad sight, and his heart ached. "How bad is he?"

It was Mrs. Beakley who finally spoke up, answering Fenton's question.

"Concussion, I'm afraid. As well as some second degree burns and a case of whiplash. The doctors tell us he's lucky he survived the explosion at all." She paused, looking sadly over at the old man in the bed- Scrooge suddenly looking his age rather than the young spirited adventurer she was used to. She sighed. "Now they tell us we must wait for Mr. McDuck to wake up from the trauma on his own."

' _If he wakes up'_ was the lingering dreaded thought that hung in the air between the two adults.

Fenton turned away from Mrs. Beakley as he pulled the chair next to the hospital bed closer, sitting down with a heavy plop. The taller mallard did his best to control his trembling hands, as he dared to grab the richest duck in the world's cool non-moving palms. An act, he noted with small amusement, that would have usually given him a solid whack from Scrooge McDuck's cane. Or even a ' _What do ya think you are doin', Lad? Ya got t'pay to touch!_ ' It was with this thought that Fenton felt himself getting teary eyed as he missed his boss' crankiness.

It… it just wasn't right! Of course when Fenton was needed the most, to be there to be Scrooge's ever vigilant and determined hero, he was gone. When Gizmoduck was needed to stop yet another dastardly devious plot by the nefarious no-do-gooders of Duckburg, aka the Beagle Boys, he wasn't able to. When his beloved employer had required his superhero to save not only his money-bin, but himself…

' _Oh snicker doodles,'_ Fenton thought to himself miserably, ' _this isn't making me feel better at all!'_

It was in that moment the middle aged mallard made a decision to himself. No matter how long it took, whether it be hours, days, weeks- whatever!- Fenton Crackshell vowed to stay by his boss' side. Never again would he not be there for him when he truly needed him.

* * *

"Mister Crackshell, sir," Duckworth finally spoke after the tired duck started to look a little shabby, the three days of not leaving McDuck's side certainly taking its toll. "Don't you think it might be in your best interest to get some rest? Or, at the very least, clean yourself up. You haven't left his side since the moment you arrived."

Fenton, who had kept the room dark and somber while his boss remained in his comatose state, looked up at the butler standing by the now pulled back curtains- the drake squinted and nearly hissed at the intruding light. Once he recognized who it was, however, his defensive stance relaxed as he slumped back into his chair. He chuckled at the absurdity of what Duckworth said.

"'Haven't left his side.' Well, gee, that's not true. I've left every 6.4 hours for bathroom breaks. Not to mention I've become intimately acquainted with the hall's vending machine." Fenton smiled widely, yet it quickly fell when he noticed the old canine butler wasn't as amused by his technicalities. He sighed and looked away; even the usually chipper duck wasn't feeling in the mood to joke around.

"I know, Duckworth. It's just...I can't help but feel this is all my fault."

The servant scoffed.

"Yes, and what were you suppose to do against a good number of Ma Beagle's children? If even Master McDuck was having difficulties, I doubt even you could do much."

For a moment, Crackshell felt himself growing hot under the collar. Of course he could've done something. He could've done MORE than something! The superhero had dealt with the Beagle ilk more than he cared to count. (Fenton could if he wanted to; he just had no desire of any kind to do so at the moment. More pressing matters, and whatnot.) Why, he sent those trouble makers to prison so many times,…the mallard could've sworn he even had a nickname around the prison- "The Mutt Catcher". He was Gizmoduck, for Pete's sake! And he was about to mention it to the old butler, too…When he recalled a very important detail.

Only a certain few even knew about his secret identity. (And that was just Mr. McDuck and M'ma Crackshell.) Heck, even his girlfriend Gandra, the love of his life and the closest person to him outside his own family, didn't know his dangerous secret. That was the lonely life of a hero. He had learned from the experience of when his ol' buddy Launchpad had been mistaken for Gizmoduck- anyone could be put into danger from associating with the robotic mallard of justice.

But…Never in a million years did he imagine Scrooge being the one hurt.

Fenton found himself grunting as a response to Duckworth.

"Er, yes…But still. At the very least, I could've been there to give Mr. McDuck some time to strategize. I've taken more than a good bump to the head in my day. And then some! Why, they wouldn't have been a match for the likes of our tag team!"

Fenton punched the air a few times for good measure, as he fantasized what it would have been like to fight by the old mallard's side. Just the two of them, each having the other's back, as they rolled up their sleeves and took on the Beagle Boys. Giving them a good one two, one two- through and through!

His day dreaming, however, was interrupted by the sound of Duckworth clearing his throat- bringing Fenton back to reality.

"As much as I'm… sure you could have helped, I still doubt how effective your partnership could have been against a pile of explosives."

Oh, right, _that._ The younger male merely nodded, as his gaze lingered back onto his boss as he realized just how mortal each and every one of them truly were. Fenton sighed.

"Yeah…You're probably right."

"Indeed. That tends to be the case a good deal of the time." The canine gave a small soft smile to the other, before he became serious once more. "Mrs. Beakley mentioned about bringing the children sometime today for a visit. Would you please consider taking a small nap, at the very least?" Duckworth gestured towards the old duck lying in the bed next to the younger drake. "What would he say about you going through all this stress on account of him?"

"Oh, something along the lines of 'are ye daft, man?'" Crackshell laughed at his own joke before unexpectedly finding himself fighting back a yawn. He pouted. "Great, body. That be mutiny, ya know…

"Alright," Fenton finally said in a defeated sigh, giving into the request." I'll have a little nap. But only a small one!"

"Very well, sir. I'll go inquire from the nurses where they store their blankets."

By the time he returned, he found the young mallard resting his head across the world's richest duck's lap- knocked out and snoring softly. Duckworth merely shook his head as he placed the blanket over Fenton's back.

"May McDuck get better soon… for BOTH of your sakes."

* * *

In the days to come, not much had changed. Scrooge remained still, Fenton remained loyal and vigilant. Not to mention stubborn; he literally hadn't left the hospital once in nine straight days.

Meanwhile, crime ran rampant in Duckburg, only moderately controlled by the police force. News headlines read "WHERE IS GIZMODUCK?" and "GIZMODUCK MISSING; PRESUMED IN HIDING".

And yet none of that seemed to matter much to Fenton Crackshell, lowly accountant with nothing to count but seconds, minutes, hours, days.

Not much got a rouse from the gloomy accountant, who spent his days telling stories to his unresponsive boss, and spent his nights slumped over Scrooge's bed, head rested on his boss' lap in a troubled slumber.

An unexpected visitor managed to do the job, however. Fenton squinted against the fluorescent lighting in the hallway, a familiar figure illuminated against it, in her pink bath robe and fuzzy slippers.

"M'ma?" he asked, incredulously. "What in blazes are you doing here?"

"I could ask you the same question!" she rasped, hands on her hips. She looked peeved, but M'ma Crackshell often did. "What are you doing sitting here in the dark, when _you-know-who_ is needed out there?"

Fenton slumped back into his chair, feeling sorry for himself all over again.

"Oh M'ma... _you-know-who_ isn't here anymore. Just a sad, out of the job accountant, who nearly got his boss killed."

"Well, you'd better find him, Fenton! It's gotten to the point where news is on all the time, on every station! It's Gizmoduck this, Gizmoduck that, where's Gizmoduck. I'm missing my shows!"

"Gee," Fenton mocked sarcastically, " sorry to be such an inconvenience for ya. I've just been a little preoccupied, is all!"

His mother sighed in frustration, before her features softened. She made her way closer to her son, as she looked at the old duck laying in the hospital bed. She cleared her throat.

"This, uh… this is really eating at you, isn't it?"

"How couldn't it? I'm just nearly responsible for the death of somebody I care about, is all- I'd say that's a pretty big deal!"

"I guess so, when you go n' word it like that" M'ma took the moment to turn her son's chair, so that he was looking at her and only her. She loomed, a look of determination on her face. "But what about the people out there that depend on Gizmoduck to save them? Aren't they as important as McDuck? While you're in here, cryin' and blatherin' what a worthless hero you are, you have people out there that actually NEED you n' crying out for help."

M'Ma Crackshell threw a glance over at the comatosed duck next to them.

"Besides, what would he think about all of this? McDuck pays you to take care of everything, and right now… I don't think he's getting his money's worth."

"But... but what if he wakes up, and there's no one here to welcome him back?" he asked, voice small and so reminiscent of his early childhood, M'ma Crackshell felt her chest tighten. She heaved another sigh.

"Listen... would it make you feel any better if I sat with him while you were out?"

Fenton's face lit up instantly.

"Oh. M'ma! You'd do that? For real and for true?" he gushed. It was nice to see him smiling again. Heck, it was nice to see him at all. She gave a shrug, and a lopsided smile.

"Sure, why not? S'not like there's anything to do back at the trailer but sit and watch the wallpaper peel."

She was taken by surprise as he threw his arms around her in a quick, but firm hug.

"Oh, thank you, thank you! You're the best M'ma a guy could have!" And with that he was already racing for the door.

"It's time for _you-know-who_ to put the _you-know-what_ in the _you-know-where_!"

The shocked and horrified look on his mother's face had him stuttering and fumbling to correct himself.

"Uh! Putting the criminals and dastardly wrong-doers into prison, that is." Fenton straightened himself up, as he looked and felt the most confident he had in over a week. "This is a job for Giiiiiizmoduck!"

And with that, Fenton Crackshell ran out of the room, ready to dawn his much neglected suit and to put his fair city back into shape. M'Ma Crackshell, however, sunk into the chair her son had previously been occupying, as she picked up the remote that was attached to McDuck's hospital bed. She smiled triumphantly to herself as she pressed a button, turning on the tv from the other side of the room.

"Now, let's see what's on cable for a change."

* * *

It didn't take long for the streets to get cleaned once Gizmoduck was on the case. Speeding across town faster than a speeding bullet, the robotic hero of justice set forth fixing anything he thought was out of place. Stopping a bank robbery here, giving out parking tickets there, it had been well past midnight when the city was quiet and peaceful once more- and Fenton Crackshell found himself collapsing in McDuck's hospital room, just thankful the nursing staff had recognized him and actually let him back inside past visiting hours.

And in the following days that had become his schedule. During the day, when the others assumed Fenton was going home to get some much deserved rest, he was actually dawning his suit and helmet- making his rounds of the city and protecting his boss' money-bin. Then, at nights, eight o'clock on the dot, he would roll his way back to the hospital and spend his evenings there- sometimes curled up in his chair, and other times head resting unabashedly on the world's richest duck's lap.

It was a situation both of the Crackshells were happy with, as one got to fulfill his duties and the other became smitten by the world of HD television.

* * *

 _Revenge had never been in Fenton's dictionary, and certainly never in Gizmoduck's, but that didn't stop the odd sense of exhilaration when Gizmoduck was called to thwart the Beagle Boys one morning._

 _Apparently, so Gyro told him, they had foolishly decided to try robbing Scrooge's money-bin again. What morons! Fools! Gizmoduck arrived to make short work of them, and they cowered in his heroic presence._

 _"We're sorry, Mister Gizmoduck, sir! We were idiots to try and rob the bin while you're around!"_

 _"Yeah! We promise not to cause any more harm! Just don't hit us anymore!"_

 _"We was just pretendin' t'rob the joint, honest!"_

 _But the fist of justice knows no mercy, and they were tied up and sent off to prison, where they belonged! Gizmoduck stood proud, watching as they were carted off, frankly quite pleased with himself._

 _"Fenton!"_

 _Gizmoduck spun around and gasped when he heard the familiar and oh-so-missed voice of his boss. And there he was, Scrooge McDuck, standing awake, healthy, right as rain, atop the hill._

 _"Mr. McDuck! You're awake! You're well! Gee, they sure did let you out of the hospital in a hurry."_

 _The geared wonder made a b-line for his boss, but stopped when he replied,_

 _"Aye, I'm well. But I won't be for much longer if you don't clear out all of these explosives!"_

 _In a sudden panic, Fenton turned his gaze to the money-bin, every inch of it covered in sticks of dynamite. He gasped in horror, and wasted no time in rushing over to it, ripping off clumps of the stuff at a time. But under the dynamite was even more dynamite._

 _"Fenton!"_

 _"I'm going as fast as I can, Mr. McDuck!" Fenton cried, a strong sense of dread and an overwhelming feeling of futility washing over him._

 _"Fentoooon!"_

"I'm trying!" Fenton cried out in the dark hospital room, awaking himself with a jolt. He discovered he had been crying for real, and fought the urge to blow his nose on his sleeve. He blinked, letting the remaining tears slide down his feathery cheeks, before straightening up and rubbing his eyes. When Fenton could clearly see once more, he sighed.

"Boy, talk about a bad dream," he mumbled to himself, used to talking to fill the silence that the room left him with. The middle aged duck looked at the bed once more, his brain just barely recognizing the fact that he was staring at a now sitting up patient he had previously been using as a pillow. Fenton sighed again as he continued. "And still dreaming, I guess. At least this one is a more pleasant dream, _ey Scroogey_?"

The dream Scrooge frowned.

"How many times must I tell you to stop calling me that?"

Fenton smiled sadly.

"You even _sound_ like the real mccoy, too."

" _Oh for Goldurn's sake_ ," the old mallard growled, face palming tiredly before glaring at the male beside him. "Fenton, YOU'RE AWAKE!"

"I _am_?'

"Aye."

"Which means…"

Scrooge McDuck let out a cry of alarm as he suddenly found himself squeezed in the tightest embrace he could ever remember receiving in all his years. His lungs begged for air as Crackshell yet again started blubbering on him, this time tears of joy.

"Oh, oh it really IS you! Mr. McDuck, you're alright. I… I was so worried- the doctors, _you weren't waking_ \- THE EXPLOSION!"

McDuck rolled his eyes, using what little strength he had left in him to pry the arms off of his person. He scoffed, managing to smile pridefully despite how miserable and aching he felt- neckbrace making him feel stiffer than his age ever had.

"Are ya daft, man? Of course I'm alright. Would I be talking to you if I weren't?"

This time Fenton found himself beaming to himself as he mused the question over. While there was always the possibility of the supernatural- McDuck talking to him from beyond the grave or suffering some sort of zombification… He doubted that was what his boss wanted to hear.

"I guess you have a point! Oh! Don't go anywhere, I'll go get a nurse right away, and-"

"No, it can wait until morning, Fenton. It's late, I assume."

"Well yeah, but-"

" _It can wait._ But, while we wait, tell me... my money-bin. Is she alright?"

Fenton couldn't stop the laughter. Days of worry and stress seemed to flow out of him as he did so. Yup, it was Scrooge, alright. And now Scrooge was glaring at him, dangerously.

"It's no laughing matter! Is me money safe?" he stressed, in a scolding tone. But Fenton's smile didn't falter.

"You bet! Your bin's been patched up nicely, and every dime, nickel, and penny accounted for! I saw to that, myself."

Scrooge's expression softened, and he smiled, blissfully with a sigh- settling back down into his hospital bed comfortably.

"Good." He closed his eyes, and his accountant began to panic a little. He didn't want Scrooge to go back to sleep yet! Maybe if he kept talking...

"Uh! And the boys! Huey, Dewey, and Louie! They're safe and sound, too!"

"Aye." Scrooge replied, his eyes still closed. "I know."

Fenton frowned. "...You do? But how? You've been out like a light for over a week!" Now Scrooge did open his eyes. He looked tired, but peaceful.

"I heard everything that was being said. Which reminds me; remind me later to clout you for having your mother sit in with me all day." But Scrooge didn't seem angry. There was even a hint of humor in his expression.

Fenton, however, was confused.

"What, didn't enjoy the company?"

"The company was fine, it was her choice of television I wasn't so fond of." Scrooge laughed, even though his frustration was equally genuine. "Did ya know she likes t'watch reruns o'the same shows? I swear, if I had to listen to the same dang soap opera ONE MORE TIME- _oof!_ "

The old mallard didn't have time to finish his complaint as he found himself in yet another tight hug. Just as equally lung crushing as the previous one. Okay, this was just getting ridiculous now.

"Fenton, would y'get offa me?!"

"No can do, sir!"

"Fenton, I'm warnin' you.."

"Oh, how I've even missed you hollering at me!"

Scrooge McDuck sighed, as he forced himself to just relax into the embrace. He closed his eyes, allowed his right hand to pat the younger duck in comfort. A warmth washed over him as he remembered the fact that Fenton was the same loyal employee that stayed by his side and went leaps and bounds to make sure he knew he wasn't alone- a fear the old drake didn't even realized he had developed, after years of suffering the forced isolation he had plighted himself with before his nephews entered his life. McDuck exhaled again, his voice soft with affection and gratitude as he finally replied.

"Me too, lad, _me too_."


	3. Overdraft

"Almost there, watch your step!"

Fenton Crackshell led the love of his life across a field, and up a grassy hill, her delicate hand clutched in one of his, a wicker basket swinging from his other. The sun felt good, the breeze made it better. The bright green grass and the small but colorful flowers dotting the valley below almost seemed a sign that things were okay now. Better than okay, even!

"Okay, you can peek now!" Fenton chirped, and Gandra Dee removed her blindfold. The woman gasped and smile at the beautiful scenery, and the basket her boyfriend had been carrying.

"Oh Fenton, it's beautiful! I'll be honest; when you told me you were taking me out to dinner, I was afraid you were taking me to an overpriced, fancy restaurant."

Fenton chuckled nervously, and pulled at the collar of his suit. No need to mention this had been a quickly concocted plan B, and that their reservations at the very fancy and very overpriced restaurant had fallen through.

"Heh, what can I say? I just have a knack for these sort of things, ya know." The duck gingerly put down the picnic basket he had been carrying as he bent over to take out the checkered blanket inside. With a quick flourish Fenton spread it out-bowing and making a show of it, caused his girlfriend to giggle at his antics. Fenton smiled wider as he spoke up once more.

"Ladies first."

"Thank you."

The moment Gandra sat down she 'oohed' in slight startlement as a glass of homemade lemonade was already waiting for her. Still, she beamed with gratitude as she took the beverage from Fenton's hands. She noted in amusement that he plopped down next to her and dramatically took in a deep breath before sighing in content.

"Why, Fenton, I don't think I've seen you this happy in ages."

"That's because I haven't FELT this happy in ages, my Gandra dearest." The duck looked at his girlfriend from an upside-down point of view, his head practically in her lap as he took in the hen's beauty. "Duckburg is okay, ol' Scroogey is doing loads better now that he's out of the hospital, I'm spending time with _you_ … It's like I can finally BREATHE again!"

Gandra merely smiled in reply, sipping at her drink. Truth be told, Scrooge's accident had affected more than just Fenton. It had seemed to her that a dark foreboding cloud had hung over their little part of Duckburg while Scrooge laid unconscious in the hospital.

"Well, it's good to have you back, Fenton." she finally replied. She meant this both physically, and emotionally.

"It's good to be back!" Fenton sat up so abruptly, Gandra wondered how the guy didn't suffer from head rush.

"And I'll tell ya another thing; this little disaster has taught me a valuable lesson, too!" Fenton added, turning to Gandra with love and adoration in his eyes. Her smile faltered when he grabbed her hand.

"Oh?" Gandra enquired, regrettably.

"Yeah! I'm never taking you, or anyone else I care about a whole lot for granted, ever again!"

"Fenton, I don't think-"

"Nono, Gandra dearest, let me finish."

The smile on the middle aged mallard's face slipped, as genuine pain etched into his features- making Gandra Dee silence her own disagreements as she listened intently. Fenton continued, sadly looking at his woman's hand as he traced her feathered palm distractedly.

"I don't know much about death and all that stuff, but I DO know a great deal about watching people ya care about hurting n' not being able t'do anything about it. Sometimes all you can do is sit back and watch as things get worse and worse…" Crackshell paused his administrations as a look of determination came over him, locking eyes with the blonde hen." I might not be able to stop every lil' thing from happening, but I can make sure I'm there for 'em! Let them know every second of every day and every year that they're the the beacon of my happiness. The reason I get outta bed every morning- my muse!"

Fenton took a moment to pull a strand of blonde hair aside, his thumb grazing Gandra's cheek in the process.

"That's not so bad a thing to want, is it?"

"Of course not, Fenton, it's just..." Gandra trailed off again, that look he was giving her making her heart ache. She shook her head, and smiled gently, taking his hand in hers.

"Never mind. You're a sweet guy, Fenton Crackshell."

"N'aww, go on! I'm not even one-sixth as sweet as you are, my sunshine! Speaking of sweet, you've just GOT to try my triple berry upside down pie!"

Gandra let her smile dissolve as she watched him dig around in their picnic basket. A heavy lump of dread had taken up residence in her stomach, and had completely stolen away her appetite.

She had a bad feeling about this.

* * *

M'ma Crackshell had a bad feeling about this.

"Oh, come on Jessica," she said to her television screen one morning, watching as the story unfolded. "Drake says he's a new man, but what about all the stuff he's done in the past? Don't just stand around and let him betray you like that, woman!"

It had been a week since Scrooge McDuck had been released, and the old woman mourned the fact. Oh, don't get her wrong, she wasn't the type to wish horrible things on most people- mostly because Mrs. Crackshell simply didn't care. But, oh, she had grown so fond of cable television and high definition picture that going back home to watch her shows seemed like a culture shock of sorts. How… how had she ever survived on the ancient rabbit-eared piece of junk to begin with?!

M'ma sighed melancholy, looking at her half empty bowl of Quackerjacks before stuffing another handful in her mouth. She muttered to herself as she chewed.

"Maybe soon I'll get lucky and _you-know-who_ will get hurt on the job. Then I'll be back in tv heaven."

Mrs. Crackshell jumped as the channel suddenly flipped to another one, which showed nothing but static. She went to grab for her remote, only to find Fenton sitting on the armrest of her side of the couch where it should have been.

Fenton grinned at her. She glared back.

"Fenton, get off my remote, would ya? I'm missing my show, here!"

A look of mild surprise crossed her son's face before he hopped off as quickly as if his tail had been set aflame.

"Whoops! Sorry, M'ma!" he chirped. She mumbled noncommittally and switched the station back. It took her a few seconds to realize he was now hanging over the back of the chair.

"What?" she asked, tone deadpan, without looking away from her program.

"Oh, well, gee," Fenton began, sliding around the couch and onto the cushion next to his mother, "I just wanted t'spend a little time with you, is all. Show that your interests matter to me, and whatnot. "

Mrs. Crackshell turned her head slightly from the television to give her son a look.

" _What_ interests?"

"Well, I, uh…" The woman watched her son tap his bill in concentration, as his eyes darted around the trailer. She had just decided the conversation was a dud, as she turned back to her soap, when Fenton exclaimed out triumphantly. "Oh! That's it! Your shows. You love your 'Young and the Featherless' as if it was a second child!"

" _More like 'favorite child'._ "

"C'mon, M'ma, don't joke like that- I'm serious. I care because YOU care. Tell me about what's going on. Who's that handsome Romeo trying t'smooch up the redhead?"

The old woman did a double take. Fenton actually gave a hooey about her soaps? Something was up, but for the moment, she decided not to look the gift horse in the mouth.

"Well that's Robert; Drake's much more handsome, more successful brother. The woman he's trying to seduce is Jessica; Drake's faithful wife, who doesn't know a good deal when it hits her in the face! Come on, Jessica, wake up and smell the roses! Just say yes; Robert's got good looks, tons of cash, and he'd never fool around on you with a pair of blond bimbos from the iMOP!"

Fenton had been nodding the whole time, while his brain had slowly been lulling itself into a light slumber. When her barrage of prattle ceased, he awoke abruptly.

"Fascinating!" he replied, perhaps a little too loudly, his forced enthusiasm openly apparent. This caused his mom to flinch and whip around to face him, her eyes wide and startled. She blinked a few times.

"You're still here? Shouldn't you be at work or something?"

Fenton Crackshell threw a quick look at the digital clock on the other side of the trailer, before jumping off the couch in alarm.

"Yikes, you're right! It's Mr. McDuck's first day back at work, and I gotta be there t'open the welcome wagon." The middle aged duck began running towards the door, before stopping and turning around again to address his mother. " Gonna miss ya, M'ma. That said, is there anything else ya need before I go? Glass of water? Pillows fluffed? How 'bout-"

"Would you just go already! How are you supposed to miss anybody _if you won't leave!_ "

Fenton laughed off the woman's negativity- knowing full well she didn't mean any of it… hopefully. He threw his mother a quick air kiss before dashing out the house. Crackshell refused to be late, of all days. And he made it to the money-bin across town just in the knick of time, as the world's richest duck had just pulled up to the front of the structure. Before even Duckworth could get out of the car, Fenton huffed and puffed as he reached Scrooge's door- opening it to help his boss out.

"G-good… Good morning, Mr. McDuck! You're looking well n' spry today!"

Scrooge thought to say something regarding his fully functioning capability of opening car doors for himself, but decided against it. The lad meant well.

"Good mornin', Fenton." he replied, in its place, stepping out of the vehicle, and gazing at his money-bin. He took a deep whiff of the air around him; he could smell his beautiful fortune from out here.

"Ah, what a sight for sore eyes!" the old duck gushed. Beside him, Fenton blushed.

"Aw! I could say the same about you, Mr. McDuck!"

Scrooge rolled his eyes, and frowned. "I was talking about my money-bin, y'dolt."

"Oh! Uh, I knew that." Fenton scrambled to catch up with his boss, who had begun walking toward the entrance of his work place.

"So, what's on the 'ol agenda for today, huh? Nothing too strenuous, I hope!"

"Depends on what you mean by 'strenuous', I suppose." They had reached the door when Fenton quickly opened it, Scrooge merely eyed him as he continued the conversation on the way inside. "It's been a few weeks since I've looked over the figures of me businesses. I figured seeing the ol' gross profits might raise my spirits after getting my medical bill."

McDuck shuddered over the very thought; the other day he had nearly fainted from the sight of it.

"Which reminds me: next time I get hurt… don't even bother with the hospital. Just send me t'bed and let nature take its course."

Fenton chuckled uneasily, and followed Scrooge inside. Boy, everyone was just full of jokes today! He hoped the profit report wasn't TOO gross, though; it might not do wonders for his mood if they were. He knew sometimes you had to get a little dirty when dealing with business, but even he didn't know if a guy just out of the hospital should be messing with stuff TOO foul!

"Where to first, Mr. McDuck?" the accountant asked.

Scrooge gave him another look from the corner of his eye. What was with all the questions? And did he have to stand so close?

"... I'm going to stop by and take a look at my money first, I think. It's been far too long."

He didn't get very far before his feet left the ground, and he found himself cradled in Fenton's arms like an infant.

"The vault it is! And off we go!"

"I-what- FENTON! Put me down, ya bafoon!"

No matter how much the old duck squirmed- kicking, screaming, and hitting the younger lad with his cane- Fenton carried onward. Up the stairs and past the sea of office workers- who all looked shocked to see their boss manhandled in such a ridiculous manner- and finally past the desk of an alarmed Mrs. Quackfaster (his secretary).

"Don't just stand there like a statue, woman," Scrooge cried, "get my muskeet, call the authorities, JUST GET ME DOWN FROM HERE!"

Fenton, however, just chuckled.

"Don't worry, ma'am, he's just a little cranky. Aches and pains and all that, ya know?"

"The only pain here is _you_ , Crackshell!"

Finally they made it into the office, where Fenton gently placed his boss by the door of his vault. The old mallard smacked away the hand that tried to dust him off, causing the youth to flinch away.

"Try that stunt one more time, Fenton, and you'll NEVER have a job in this town again! I'll make SURE of it!"

Fenton looked hurt, but Scrooge didn't let it get to him. Instead, he went to work opening the vault door, smacking his accountant away when he tried to help.

"Well gee, Scroogy, I just didn't want you to strain yourself, is all..." Fenton whined, deflated and defeated.

"Walking and opening up doors never strained me before, and it isn't going to now! I'm FINE." Scrooge retorted, slipped inside the vault, and made haste to slam it shut behind him. He leaned up against it, and heaved a relieved sigh.

"Blast me bagpipes; a man survives an explosion, and suddenly, everyone treats 'im like he's old an' feeble!"

He flinched when the pounding started on the other side of the door.

"Mr. McDuck! Wait! Do y'need water wings? An inner-tube? Earplugs? How long since y'last ate?"

"Go away!" Scrooge bellowed. The pounding stopped.

Fenton stared at the door in silence for a good two minutes, before sighing and shrugging.

"Well... I guess I have a few minutes to give Gandra a call, then!"

* * *

The halls of the bean factory offices echoed with constant chatter, as the company was getting ready to hold a big meeting with another food company to talk about the possibility of future mergers. Gandra Dee found herself almost in a sweat as she juggled filing paperwork, taking and transferring phone calls, as well as learning key phrases of greeting for the company's foreign owners. It was certainly exciting, but stressful, and the receptionist was already beginning to mentally shut down after a couple hours of it straight.

Gandra was right in the middle of learning Spanish when the phone rang. Going on instinct alone, she quickly pushed the speaker button as she stapled a pile of papers.

"Como estas, McDuck Bouncing Bean Factory head offices."

"Como Who? Naw, it's me, Fenton!"

Gandra's already frazzled mind flashed red.

"Fenton? Is something wrong, did something happen?" she asked, fearing the worst.

"Well gosh, I hope not! I called to see how you were doing, my sugar pie!"

Fenton's chipper tone only served to agitate the hen even more. The grip she held on the stapler tightened.

"I can't do this right now, Fenton, I'm very busy!"

"Aw, that's okay." Gandra could hear a slight hurt tone in her boyfriend's voice as he continued. "I know how it is, helping run a business and all. Okey dokey then, I'll just call you back later. Tootles, my sweets~."

The receptionist gave a quick goodbye before hanging up. She pulled a strand of blonde hair out of her face- in the moment wishing she sported a bun- as the hen gathered up another handful of papers to staple. The phone ringed before she could do so, and Gandra effortlessly pressed the call button with her elbow.

"Hello, McDuck Bouncing Bean Factory head offices."

Gandra nearly dropped her papers as she recognized the awkward groan from the other end.

"Er, _hey_ , me again… Just wondering how late is 'later' exactly?"

"FENTON!"

"Alright alright, no need t'fuss. I'll just take a guess then. Bye! … AGAIN!"

* * *

Fenton had just hung up the phone on McDuck's desk when the owner had made his way out of the vault- looking far more lively and jovial than when he went in. Scrooge shook his shirt, catching a stuck dime that had been in there and throwing it back into his grand pile. The old mallard's beam slipped some as he noted his accountant's hand on the handset.

"I hope y'plan on paying for that call."

"Don't worry 'bout it, sir, you can just take it from my paycheck like ya always do." Crackshell stepped away from the desk to allow his boss to get to his chair. He went on after his boss snuggled in comfortably.

"Speaking of money, enjoy your dip?"

"Aye. A dip in my 'ol money-bin was just what I needed." Scrooge replied. He sounded as relaxed as he looked, much to Fenton's delight.

"Good! Great! That's what I like to hear!" Fenton beamed, peeking around the back of the chair. Scrooge glanced at him, and retrieved a stack of papers from his drawer.

"Now if you'll excuse me... I have some paperwork t'get caught up on before my meeting with the vice presidents of Whiffle Boy Industries t'morrow morning."

Fenton's beam drooped instantly. He came around to stand next to Scrooge's chair.

"Aw, do I have to go? Can't I stay? Please oh please? I promise, you won't even know I'm here!" the accountant pleaded, not thrilled with leaving Scrooge all by his lonesome in any shape or form.

"I suppose." Scrooge said, half distracted, as he adjusted his glasses and began reading over the top paper. "Just don't say a word. I mean it, Fenton! Not a peep!"

"Dontcha worry, Mr. McDuck, no peeps from me! Silence, a shadow- there but not really! At least, metaphorically speaking. " Scrooge glared at the middle aged duck, causing him to smile sheepishly. "Heh, zipping it now, sir."

" _Good._ "

And zip it he did, as Fenton pulled up a metal folding chair that the rich duck kept in his office- the cheapest seat Scrooge could find at the yard sale he bought it from. The chair creaked as the drake tried to unfold it- causing him to stop midway from alarm. Fenton tried to carefully unfold it the rest of the way, going slowly in hopes that it would make the thing silent. However, it did not, and in fact had the opposite effect as it caused the chair to squeak louder. McDuck threw his accountant a dirty look just as Fenton finished- the duck plopping in his seat and feigning innocence as he shrugged his shoulders.

Scrooge sighed, feeling the beginning of a headache coming on. He contemplated asking his secretary to send him in some aspirin, as McDuck's hand went to grab his pen to circle a section of his documents that looked iffy to him. (Nobody cheats McDuck out of anything, after all!) However, his hand hit the desk instead of the writing tool. The old mallard frowned, still refusing to to take his gaze away from the papers as his hand continued to pat around for the pen. Scrooge found his spectacles fumbling from surprise as his pen was suddenly shoved in his face- Crackshell having retrieved it for him.

McDuck side-eyed the lad, taking in Fenton's grin as he snatched the pen out of his hand.

"Thanks."

"No problem-o, Mr. McDuck! Need anything else while I'm up? A light snack, perhaps?"

"No."

"Oh! Okay then, I'll just be over here."

Scrooge cringed as he heard the chair creak again, but he didn't look up. He absentmindedly began rubbing his forehead. A few more moments of relative silence passed.

"Hey Scroogy? Have I ever thanked you for giving me a job when I was down and out?"

"Plenty." Scrooge mumbled. It had become obvious to Scrooge that Fenton had gotten it in his mind again to butter him up for a raise, and he wasn't about to even humor him this time around.

"Oh, good! Because it's true, y'know. Why, I was just telling M'ma the other day- hey, where ya headed?"

The world's richest duck had gotten out of his chair and begun to walk away from the desk when he was stopped by the younger mallard's inquiry. McDuck threw a glance over his shoulder, glaring as he was getting fed up from this game of twenty questions.

"To the loo, if that's alright with you."

"'Loo'? What in the hoo-ha is a- OH! Ooooh, bathroom, _gotcha_. " Silence passed between the two, as Fenton rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. "I, uh, don't suppose y'need help with that, do ya?"

His question was answered by a slam of the door, as Scrooge sprinted to the bathroom. The old mallard panted as he rested his back against the door, using his weight to keep it closed. Oh, this was getting ridiculous. He wasn't going to get anything done with that crazed kook of an accountant around. He needed to get rid of him, _and fast_.

"Isn't it time fer GIZMODUCK t'go on patrol?" Scrooge yelled, praying that the lad would take the bait. "I know you want to help around here, but I think he'd do me more good right now."

Fenton grinned, as Scrooge's voice carried through the shut door. He leapt off of his chair; finally! Something he could help with!

"You got it, Mr. McDuck! I won't letcha' down! It's time to pass the reigns to, GIIIZMODUUUUCK!"

And so the reigns were passed, Scrooge Mcduck's money-bin's official protector wheeling dutifully back and forth across the land on which it stood.

"Phew!" the metallic wonder said, a hand reaching up to instinctively wipe away the sweat beading on his forehead- which proved pointless through his helmet.

"It sure is a scorcher today! My motors are overheating!"

Gizmoduck shielded his eyes with a gloved hand, and scanned the area, stopping to gaze thoughtfully in the direction that Gandra Dee's house lied.

"Hmm. Gandra's prized petunias are no doubt faring even worse than I am in this heat! A quick watering job might be just what they need. I'll be just a moment!"

Expertly changing the suit's hand into a convenient water hose, Gizmoduck took off toward her house. One very uneventful trip later, and he was humming a cheerful tune as he spread water across the drooping garden.

"There you go, my parched petunia pals! Drink as much as you need; there's plenty more where- oh?" The flow of water ebbed, as Gizmoduck bent over and raised his shades to get a better look at the tiny shrub hiding amongst the flowers.

"A weed? In MY dearest's garden? Huh, she must have just been too busy lately t'notice. I'll just take care of that real quick, and get back to work then…"

And Gizmoduck did just that, effortlessly pulling out the fiendish plant and throwing it over his shoulder triumphantly. He was just about to roll away when his eye caught another intruder, and another… and another. Next thing the hero knew, he was surrounded by nothing but weeds. The middle aged duck gulped.

"Blathering blatherskite! It's… it's an infestation!"

Oh, this was a disaster! Poor poor Gandra, Fenton hadn't realized she had been THAT busy as of late. If he had known she had been, he would of set time aside ages ago to help her out. He knew how much his garden meant to his girlfriend, after all.

"WELL, no time like the present, I suppose." Another bead of sweat dripped down his face, this time lightly splashing on the grass. Gizmoduck looked at it worriedly. "BUT, first, maybe I should consider taking the suit off. For… economic reasons."

An hour passed in the hot sun, and slowly, the army of offending weeds was reduced to a growing pile of trash, safely away from Gardra's poor petunias. Fenton sighed in relief as he spotted the last one. He wiped the sweat from his hands, gripped the weed firmly, and pulled with all his might. It came out more easily than he'd expected, and he stumbled backward, landing on his rump in the grass.

No sooner had he landed, there was a high pitched scream that sent his already exhausted heart jumping in his chest. He whipped around to see his beloved Gandra, home from work. Oh, wouldn't she be pleased!

But she certainly did not look pleased. No, in fact, this was as far away from pleased as Fenton had ever seen her. She looked horrified, on the verge of tears, and Fenton's heart broke. He struggled to his feet and approached her with caution.

"Gandra? My sweet? What's wrong? Surely you're not worried on _my_ account, what with working myself so hard on such a hot day? Well don't be! I'm fine! Look, see? It'll take more than a few pesky weeds to do me in!"

"Oh, _oh Fenton_ ," Gandra glared a teary eyed glare as she locked eyes with her dunderhead of a boyfriend. "I _really_ wish you hadn't. Those AREN'T weeds!"

"They… they aren't?" Fenton Crackshell looked back at the large pile, dread starting to form in the pit of his stomach. "Then what in Samwise's name ARE they then?"

"They _were_ the Prinses Irene tulips I had been looking forward to seeing bloom since I planted the bulbs last year."

"... Whoops?"

" _Big whoops_ , Fenton."

"I… no need to worry, my love," the mallard ran to the pile before plopping on his knees, already beginning to dig new holes. "I'll just replant them! All of them. Back where ya had them, and they'll be good as new!"

Gandra looked exhausted.

"No, no need-"

" _No need?!_ It's the _least_ I can do!"

The hen didn't even respond as she walked past Fenton and his pile of destruction. She needed rest, and just didn't have the energy to deal with any of his nonsense.. Her hand reached the door handle when Fenton spoke up again, jovially.

"Good idea, Gandra! Lemonade is just what we need t'get the job done! Thanks a bunch!"

Gandra didn't even respond as she slammed the door. The middle aged duck, however, stared at the door in confusion.

"Gee, _was it something I said?_ "

* * *

And so incidents like these occurred over the span of the week: from the middle aged duck's clinginess to his over abundance of helpfulness- it was driving everyone up the wall! Fenton had been used to the temperaments of both his mother and his boss; however, he had begun to suspect maybe something was up when he had greeted his girlfriend one afternoon with a surprise visit and plans to take her out for fresh air and lunch. She didn't act _quite_ the way he thought she would… The accountant actually jumped when his lovely lady slammed the papers she'd been carrying down on a nearby desk and whirled around, glare at the ready.

"Fenton, what are you doing here?" she snapped. Fenton was at a loss for words- for a few moments, at least. He fumbled over words until he found ones that would work.

"I, uh, I just thought that you, and me, and we, might step out for a bite, maybe, perhaps?" he offered his best toothy I'm sorry smile, and hoped he didn't look as bewildered as he felt.

"Fenton, I'm working." she spoke slowly, as if speaking to a child, but her tone hadn't lost its sharp edge. "You've been so needy lately, that it's gotten to the point I look forward to going to work!"

"Well... that's a good thing, isn't it?" another hopeful smile.

"To get away from you."

"...Oh." The duck deflated so badly, one might have assumed he was made of melting rubber. It hurt to look at him, and the hurt only made her angrier.

"There you go again, with your kicked puppy act! Fenton, I... _please_. Just go. We'll talk about this later, after I've had some time to clear my mind."

"'Act?' But-"

" _Go_."

Fenton slumped, the back of his hands nearly hitting the floor as he trudged out of the office dejectedly. Gandra momentarily found her anger slip as guilt struck her- that was the thing with Crackshell, he never _meant_ to go over board. Fenton was just a special mix of over zealous and too oblivious for his own good. Not necessarily a bad thing most of the time, and it definitely had its charms; but… the duck had just been too much lately! She was in the right to feel upset… wasn't she?

Gandra was considering following after her boyfriend to apologize and explain where she was coming from, when she was suddenly stopped by a voice coming from behind her.

"That was some show you put on, Ms. Dee."

The blonde hen spun on her heels, nearly toppling over when she was greeted by the overweight visage of her boss- the vice president of the company.

"Oh, Mr. Hensletter! I'm… I'm sorry, I must have caused quite the disturbance."

"On the contrary, Ms. Dee! That's exactly the kind of authoritarian attitude this company needs! I'm talking manager material... here, walk with me."

"Manager?" Gandra had little choice in walking with him or not; the hefty arm now slung around her shoulder decided for her. Still, she had to admit, the more the man talked, the better it started to sound... almost too good to be true. And then it was out, the catch, and doubt began to set in.

"Of course..." her boss began, slyly, pausing for just the right amount of dramatic effect. "there's the little matter of relocation."

"Relocation? What do you mean?" Gandra questioned.

"Well, here's the thing. There's only one of our factories I know of that's in need of new management. And it ain't this one. No, the one I have in mind happens to be all the way out in Spain..."

The two of them spent the next hour discussing business propositions, and then Mr. Hensletter sent her home early to think it over.

And think she did, all the way home. It would be so easy; just pack up and leave her old life behind, climb up in life, get out of this rut she was in before she was too old for it to matter anymore. But could she really leave Duckburg behind? Her friends, her family... her Fenton?

Gandra Dee was busy thinking these questions over when she finally made it home- tripping as she made her way inside. The woman was bewildered as she found herself on the floor, blinking slowly a few times to clear her head. A head that was currently hurting from where she fell. Rubbing the sore spot on her forehead- no doubt a lump already forming- she looked down by her feet to see just what had caused her to trip in the first place.

Her confusion only doubled when she saw a pile of gifts and bouquets. Cautiously she went to pick up one of the bouquets, a card sticking out from the lilies. Gandra found herself seeing red as she read the card aloud.

"' _Sorry for earlier, with love Fenton'_?!"

She gawked, realizing that the whole pile must have been from him. She growled in frustration as she threw the bouquet back into the pile with the others. That's it, she was done. She could not handle a single moment more of this nonsense.

She and Fenton needed to have a talk.

* * *

"Oh, hiya, Gandra Dee! I was just- ... oh? Well sure! I'll be over before you can say- hello? Gandra? Huh. Must be a faulty connection."

It was the day following his office rejection, or rather, ejection, and the call had Fenton both anxious and mildly relieved. She wanted to apologize, no doubt... poor Gandra. He hoped she didn't feel too badly about the whole incident. He simply wouldn't hear of it!

"That was my sweet Gandra Dee, Mr. McDuck. She says we need to have a talk; I guess those apology gifts really did the trick! Er... would you mind if I took my break early?"

"Please do. I'm sure I'll manage without ye."

Scrooge McDuck sat chest-deep in bubbly bath water, sporting his striped bathing suit and an expression of pure rage. Fenton sat outside of the tub, the scrub brush he'd been using after he insisted on helping his boss get all cleaned up for his next meeting, held in the hand that hadn't been holding the old mallard yanked the scrubber out of his accountant's hand, as he waved it threateningly at the younger duck.

" _Bubble me backside_ \- out! SHOO! Get going and leave me alone f _or goldurn's sake!_ "

Fenton flinched back, but laughed all the same.

"Alright, _alright_. I'm going. Feel free t'call me if y'need me, though!"

"Oh trust me," Scrooge began, crossing his arms over his chest a he watched the lad leave the room, " _I won't_."

* * *

From McDuck Mansion it didn't take long for Fenton Crackshell to arrive at the home of his girlfriend. Fenton knocked eagerly on the door, only afterward silently lamenting the fact he didn't think to pick flowers up on the way over.

"Oh Gandra, _love of my life n' pep in my step_ : It's meeee- Fenton!"

"The door is open," was the feminine reply the duck heard from inside the small home. Grinning with slight nervousness, Fenton opened the door and peeked inside. Spotting his girlfriend sitting on the couch, he opened up the door widely as he made his way inside- snatching the seat right next to the hen, not noticing her scooch closer to the edge away from him.

"So, what's on your mind, Gandra? I'm all ears!"

Gandra just stared at the guy in silence for a while. His chipper attitude in such a situation was almost... unnerving. Did he not know that the code "we need to talk" meant? She found herself hoping that was the case, as she cleared her throat, and cast her eyes to her own lap.

"Fenton... I care a lot about you, I do." She clamped his bill shut with her hand as he tried returning the sentiment tenfold.

"You're a great guy, and I appreciate your... enthusiasm... but in the end, it isn't fair for either of us to keep on pretending. You're not... what I'm looking for in life, Fenton Crackshell, and I think, if you would step away for a moment and look, you'd realize that I'm not exactly what you're looking for, either..."

Fenton's mood did a complete turnaround, he was now on his knees on the cushion beside her, his eyes large and tear-filled. She inched a little farther away. Soon she would be out of couch space.

"Gandra, my love, don't say that! We're perfect for each other, don't you see? I love you with every fiber of my mphh!" her hand returned to put a halt to his love babble.

"Whether you agree to see reason or not... I think it's best if we sep-"

"Gandra, please! Don't say it, just don't! I can change, I've done it before, I-"

"I'm moving to Spain in a week."

Fenton found himself genuinely at a loss for words as he took in what his girlfriend said. He sputtered uncontrollably.

"I-I, uh, SPAIN? But, I, and YOU," Crackshell took a deep breath, hoping his brain would slow down enough for his bill to catch up. "But, Gandra, WHY? I know I've been a little… out of sorts, but d'ya really dislike me THAT much that you want to leave the _country_?!"

"Oh Fenton," Gandra began sadly, shaking her head at the fact he just didn't get it. "I don't hate you. While I'll admit I factored our relationship into the decision, it was never really about you. Mr. Hensletter at work has been negotiating deals with another company there and they have finally decided to do business. With that in mind, they'll be opening a new factory and he sees managerial potential in me."

"But what's wrong with the job you have here?"

"Nothing, except-"

"Then you don't need t'leave!"

Gandra glared again, as she stood up from her seat to loom over the other. Fenton flinch, moving back while still on his knees. This prompted the hen to take another step forward as she shouted her frustrations.

" _Oooh_ , you're not _listening_! You NEVER listen! I took the job because I wanted to. It would be good for me, don't you see? You always talk about being a somebody, well, maybe I want to be a somebody too. Do you know how… how _hard_ it is for a working girl in this world? It's nearly impossible for women to get jobs in authoritative positions. I… I don't want this to be all there is. I _want_ more. I _need_ more. "

Gandra was nearly in tears as she pointed out the window, where her garden remained grounded and unmoved.

"I want to be MORE than the pretty perennials out there. Beautiful, grounded and a constant, but easily destroyed just because some.. some MAN was trying to be NICE!"

Fenton slipped off the couch onto legs that weren't quite steady. He wasn't sure the woul'd hold him, so he stayed where he was for the moment.

"I... see." It was very hard fighting the tears that wanted to burst forth. He wanted to cry, bawl, clutch onto this woman and beg her not to go. But it was past the time for that now, wasn't it? His mind was already buzzing with ideas- buzzing in a blind panic.

Now what?

As soon as he was sure he'd make it, the mallard slowly made his way toward the open door.

"I, uh... I'm sorry, Gandra Dee. I never meant to hold ya back. I guess I never realized... _oh boy_."

Before Fenton could take a step outside, he was whirled around to face Gandra again, her hands on his shoulders. Her eyes regarded his sternly, and still glistened with tears. Their beauty pierced his heart and he whimpered.

"Fenton, I can't let you leave without being absolutely sure you understand the situation this time. I need to know that 'we're through' doesn't mean 'I have a week to fix this' to you. Can you promise me that?"

The duck had to look away, not being able to stand it as he fought back the tears that threatened to fall.

"I… I understand." Fenton sniffed. "All I ever wanted was to make you happy."

Gandra let go of the mallard, and the duck took the opportunity to quickly turn around and head towards the door. He reached the handle when he stopped.

"Goodbye Gandra. I hope the job is exactly what you're lookin' for."

Fenton exited the home and immediately slumped against the closed door. He slid against the frame, where he finally crumbled on the ground- legs no longer stable enough to carry him away. It was then, the sun only beginning to set, that Fenton Crackshell shed all that he had been holding back.

Leaving him feeling empty.


	4. Collateral

There were none in the majestic town of Duckburg who didn't know the name "McDuck". And in some ways, the name practically ruled the place. Or, at the very least, the old drake behind the name did- the penny pincher having helped found the place by building his money-bin and the businesses surrounding it. Yes, Scrooge McDuck wasn't only the richest citizen in the city…But also the world. His power and wealth stretched farther than the naked eye could see. Or the average mind could comprehend.

And he was quite proud of it, too.

Yes, Scrooge had worked his whole life to get to where he was today. From the moment he received his first dime from shining shoes back in Glasgow, to his mining in the Klondike, to fighting alongside President Roosevelt and everything else since. He had seen and experienced everything the world had to offer, both the positive and the negative. And in his existence, he had been both the hero and the villain- losing himself to his own greed and stubbornness far too many times to count.

McDuck was quite the complicated duck.

However, what wasn't difficult to understand was his obsession: money. Oh, how his whole being was wrapped around bills and coins. Every piece of wealth had its own story, and every tale made up the very mysteriousness of its owner. And his favorite pastimes included making it, counting it, sorting it, and otherwise. But nothing quite met his fancy as swimming around in it, and having the coins hit him on the noggin.

And that was exactly what the old mallard had planned that evening. The keyword being 'planned', for the old miser was finding it hard to do anything as three young triplets clinged to him- begging their great uncle not to go.

"What is the world comin' to," Scrooge McDuck cried, trying his best to pry the lads off of him. "If it's not you lot clinging t'me, it's Fenton. Can't an old man just get some time to himself and swim in his bin?!"

"Not without us, you're not!" Dewey replied.

"Especially not after that bad dream I had." Huey added.

Scrooge paused in his struggles, and sat down in a hallway chair. All three of his nephews immediately piled onto his lap, and he draped his arms around them, protectively.

"Now what's all this bad dream business about?"

Dewey looked up at his uncle, sadly, and hesitated a few moments before answering.

"I had a bad dream about you, and your money-bin, and the money monster!"

"Money monster?" Scrooge asked, incredulously, and mildly offended.

"Yeah, it ate you right up! Then Dewey told us about his nightmare, and we had them, too!" Louie said. "It was big, and made out of paper money! And it had a long, slimy tongue, too!"

"Nuh-uh! It was made out of gooey stuff and smelled real bad! It's eyes were made out of coins, though." said Huey.

"Nope, you're both wrong! It was made of coins, and had big sharp teeth made of really big diamonds!" Dewey argued.

"Boys, boys, settle down." Scrooge interjected, trying to get control of the conversation. " Now, I thought you lads knew there were no such things as monsters?"

The boys gave their uncle an unimpressed look.

"But Uncle Scrooge, we've met them." Louie pulled out his hand as he tried to recall them all. " Like the time we met the wolfduck…"

"Or the mummies!" added Huey.

"Don't forget about Dracula Duck!" Dewey said with a shiver. " Or all those ghosts n' goblins. And… and the Yeti and those weird bouncy ball people too!"

"Alright, alright, enough already." Sheesh, talk about having the kids throw that back at him. The old mallard cleared his throat. " I'm beginning t'see your point. But, ye lads are forgetting one very important thing."

"We are?" They asked in unison. "What?"

"If there WAS such a thing as a money monster, I woulda already heard o'im. No WAY I'd turn down a fortune like that! And, I suppose luckily for you, I haven't heard nor seen such a beast."

Shame, too, would have been quite the profitable attraction for Duckburg Zoo. Scrooge stood up, forcing the kids to slide off his lap. He tried again making his way toward the front door, with the three of them on his heels.

"Can't we come with you, Uncle Scrooge?"

"Yeah, can we?"

"Pretty please?"

The old mallard turned around, and regarded them sternly.

"No, absolutely not. You boys still aren't quite ready for the money-bin."

The kids groaned and deflated, and Scrooge reached for the door handle, just as the door opened from the other side. Standing before him was Fenton; his clothes in disarray, his hair in a messy tangle, and bags under his eyes large enough to carry a gold bar each, at least.

"Oh you have got to be kidding me; now what?"

Fenton grabbed onto his wrinkled tie, as he twisted and fumbled it in his distress.

"I…um."

"Yes? I haven't got all night, ya know!"

Scrooge was then startled by being tackled by a crying Crackshell. The middle aged mallard sobbed uncontrollably onto his boss' shoulder- much to McDuck's discomfort- as he tried to talk.

"Oh… oh, Mr. McDuck!" Fenton wailed as he clutched the penny pincher tighter to his person. " It's just AWFUL!"

"'Awful'," Scrooge repeated in horror, alarm tinging his voice.

The old duck's head began to spin as he imagined what could have gone wrong. Was something wrong with his money-bin? Did the Beagle Boys come back to finish what they had started a month prior? Did Magica de Spell break into the vault to finally steal his number one dime- his most prized possession? Or, Scrooge found himself biting his nails at the very thought, were the rumors true about two notorious villains from Saint Canard breaking out of prison and making their way straight to Duckburg- and no doubt McDuck's fortune?

Scrooge absentmindedly patted his accountant's back to soothe him, as the old miser locked eyes with his three nephews. His expression was stern as he spoke to them.

"I think ya better be leaving, lads. Fenton and I have business t'discuss."

Huey, Dewey and Louie exchanged knowing glances, before scampering off up the stairs, around the hall corner, and stopping, hugging the wall and listening closely. If this was something that their Uncle Scrooge didn't want them to hear, it must be good! Scrooge led the accountant back to his office, where they could have the most privacy.

Meanwhile, Fenton had gathered enough of himself to explain the situation. He sniffed loudly and unflatteringly,

"Gandra and me are through! Over! Done! Warranty expired! She called it quits on me, and now she's moving to Sp- Sp -Spaaiiin!" and just like that, he was bawling again.

Scrooge shoved the blubbering man away, arms crossed under his scowl.

"Gandra? That's what all this is about? Bah! Cryin' over lost love is just a big waste of time!"

This did nothing to help Fenton feel better. He continued to cry and blubber, even as he replied.

"You don't understand! She was my everything, Scroogey! She was my sunshine, the pep in my step, the cheese on my spaghetti! I just don't know what I'm gonna do without her..."

"I'm sure you'll come up with something eventually." The old mallard began to push the weeping accountant towards the door- finished with the ridiculousness of the conversation. "And then you'll do some grand gesture t'win her over again. Jus' like ya always do."

"No, I won't. I… I can't!" Fenton struggled, and once they reached the door, grabbing onto the frame so he could finish explaining- McDuck trying to shove him out of his home office " I promised her I'd let her be- that I wouldn't burden her and get in the way of what she really wants ever again!"

Scrooge stopped his shoving as shock washed over … THE Fenton Crackshell was just giving UP? The guy with enough tenacity and drive to bulldoze a house with his bare fists… Surely he just misheard. The unbelieving miser egged the middle aged duck to go on

"... You did?"

"Yes."

"On your own accord, without any additional prompting whatsoever?"

"YES!" Fenton let go of the door, rubbing his watering eyes before he gave a slight glare. "Why are ya acting so surprised?"

McDuck threw the lad a stern look of his own.

"Because I don't believe it. I also don't get why you're still here blubbering if you've already made up your mind n' moved on." It was the multi-billionaire's turn to surprise his accountant, as he instead grabbed his hat and cane from the hooks on the side of his door- already beginning to walk out the door. "Now, if you'll excuse me, me bin is callin' t'me."

The middle aged duck broke down sobbing again, throwing himself around his boss' legs- preventing him from leaving.

"You're… you're jus'… You're just gonna leave me in my time of need?!"

"The only thing you're in need of is a solid wallop." Scrooge grumbled, trying in vain to free his feet from his accountant's insistent grip. At last he gave up, and heaved a defeated sigh. If he wanted to get to his money-bin any time that day, it looked as if he was going to have to comfort the poor fool.

Comfort had never been one of Scrooge's strong suits.

"Fenton... look. You never forget yer first love, I'll give yeh that. But that doesn't mean it's the end of the world!"

It seemed to be working, as he felt Fenton's grip loosen enough for him to step out of his clutches. As he did, Fenton got up onto his knees, sniffled, and wiped at his puffy, soaked eyes.

Scrooge contemplated making a break for it then. But he wasn't sure he could outrun the younger duck, anyway.(Besides, as much as the younger duck had annoyed him all throughout that week, he still felt a slight bit of pity for the love struck fool.) Instead, he placed a hand on one of the accountant's shoulders, as McDuck tried for reasoning with him.

"There'll be others, lad. It might not seem like it now, but some day, there will be someone else who gives you purpose, fills you with that warm glow, and makes y'glad every mornin' when the sun rises."

Fenton was about to protest, about to say what utter bull-malarkey it was…Who could ever compare to the brilliance and beauty of his beloved Gandra Dee? But then the gears in his head started to turn. He began to actually think the question over. Was it true? Were there others in his life that he felt those same strong feelings towards? Well, that depended on what emotions. Crackshell had always been a loyal duck. And he had always felt some need to be useful. And, even still, acceptance had been a long running theme in all his years of living- even Fenton was aware he wasn't exactly what one would call 'normal'.

However, was Gandra the only one he felt such strong emotions for?

No…She wasn't. This thought dawned on Fenton. There was one other person his obsessions ran deep for. This being could literally make or break his day. When they were down in the dumps, the mallard did everything in his power to cheer them up- Fenton's whole world felt off centered from it. When they were angry, the middle aged drake was ready to absorb every verbal and physical blow. (And he felt insulted if anyone else had the honor.) But, when they smiled…Fenton felt a great fortune that could even rival his boss'. This being caused his heart to race in so many ways, he actually had problems counting.

Wasn't that love?

Crackshell's jaw almost dropped to the floor in realization, as he looked at his employer in disbelief- the duck's eyes sparking with clarity.

"Y-you're right, sir. There is someone else. Someone who's a little rough around the edges, but certainly the kindest person I know. Someone who's so smart, I constantly find myself flabbergasted by their ingenuity. Sir, they have everything I could ever want in a romance- a paramore!"

Scrooge smiled, relieved that his words were finally getting through to the thick headed duck. By this rate, maybe he wouldd get to go for his dip after all!

"Good on ya! They sound like quite a charmer. So just who is the lucky lass?"

"It's you, Mr. McDuck."

The old mallard's beam instantly shattered.

"Eh… _Repeat that_?"

The younger mallard jumped to his feet in excitement- all his energy quickly returning. This did nothing but confuse the wealthiest duck even more.

"It's you, Scroogey. You're the guy!" Fenton chuckled softly before slapping his forehead as it dawned on him how ignorant he had been. " How could I not see it before? It's all there. My infatuation with Gandra must have blocked my true emotional potential!"

McDuck's glare returned from the use of the nickname, breaking through his spell of bewilderment.

"First of all, how many times must ah tell ya NOT t'call me 'Scroogey'?" The old miser wagged his finger in front of Fenton's face, taking a step forward. " And SECONDLY-"

Crackshell interrupted him, as if he didn't hear a word he said.

"And it also explains all these butterflies in my stomach I've had over the years. Here I always thought I was just afraid of losing my job from your explosive temper!"

"Now hold on, Fenton, donnea go jumpin' t'conclusions…"

The loved crazed accountant wasn't listening.

"Gee, and here I thought my feelings were because you replaced the father-figure I never had growing up- seeing as it was just good ol' M'ma and me. But, boy, this makes loads more sense!"

"No, no," Scrooge was beginning to panic now, as Fenton took an encouraged step closer to HIM- causing the older duck to back up in mild fear. " Don't go ruining a good thing, here. Father-figure theory is just as dandy. _Just as dandy_!"

Fenton picked up his boss, and hugged him with all of his might. Cuddling the flinching penny pincher affectionately. McDuck struggled.

" _Blathering blatherskite_ , I can't believe I'm in love with the richest guy on the face of the earth! Now all we gotta do is go out on our first date, go steady, get married, have 2.3 kids, and then grow old together!" The accountant's happy high was suddenly broken as he realized the absurdity of the last part, smiling sheepishly at his boss as he corrected himself. "…Er, heh, _older_ together, that is!"

And all the while Crackshell was blabbering, Scrooge was slowly (but surely) growing redder in the face. Whether it was from anger or embarrassment, even he didn't know. Finally breaking an arm free from Fenton's mighty grip, the old mallard used his cane and delivered a soft blow to his accountant's stomach, causing the lad to drop him. McDuck dusted himself off, adjusting his spectacles as well.

"Fenton, let me say it in words that even YOU can understand… You do NOT have these kinds of feelin's fer me. Yer just confused from all of this. Why, you're delusional from grief! You aren't a poof." Scrooge put his cane back on the ground, he had previously been waving it about threatening- almost daring the lad to touch him again. McDuck cleared his throat. " An' even if ya were, _I'm_ not."

"But-"

"No 'buts', Crackshell. Now, go home, leave me to me money, and get some rest- _heavens knows you need it_."

The older and shorter duck started dragging his employee towards the door, throwing him on the other side. Fenton ' _oofed'_ as he landed on his face, quickly trying to turn around and argue his case with his grumpy boss even more.

"But _sir_ -"

"I said 'No buts'! Now I'm sure by tomorrow, ye'll see just how _ludicrous_ your notions were."

"But-"

Scrooge McDuck closed and locked the door to his den, glad to have something separating the two of them. He swiped the sweat from his brow, quickly composing himself after a moment. The old duck figured that the situation was taken care of, now that he had set the record straight. Could you imagine, Fenton actually believing he was in love- and with him too boot! Scrooged sighed in relief.

"I'm glad I don't have t'worry about that _ever_ again."

Little did he know just how wrong he was…

* * *

Some habits died hard, and Fenton Crackshell was a prime example of this. And there eventually comes a point where one must stop and ask themselves if certain habits might just be a lifestyle, instead.

Sleep had been the last thing on the guy's mind when his boss sent him home the previous day- how could he go to sleep when he was on an intoxicating love high- and he had spend the rest of the evening brainstorming ways to convince the duck that his love was true, not to mention a solid investment.

And as morning dawned, Fenton was already in Scrooge's kitchen (Scrooge would very soon regret giving his accountant a spare key in case of emergencies), humming a cheerful tune as he flipped another pancake. Could you believe that McDuck, world's richest duck, didn't even have flour in his home? Fenton couldn't! And lucky for the guy's breakfast he had brought a sack- as well as other much needed ingredients- with him.

A wonderful smell filled the mansion, the aroma of butter and homemade cherry dressing making its way upstairs and into the room of the three boys. They stirred in their sleep, Huey being the first to awaken in a sleepy daze.

"Wuh… what is that?"

Dewey was next to wake up, taking a long sniff in the air- his mouth already beginning to salivate as his tummy rumbled.

"Is… is that pancakes?!"

A yawn came from the last bed, as the chattering of the others had forced the last brother to get up as well.

"But," another yawn, " isn't Mrs. Beakley and Webby outta town for the week? She's the only one that ever makes the stuff."

Dewey jumped out of bed, nearly slipping on a haphazardly placed rollerskate in the process, before running towards the door.

"Oh, you're thinking too much. Maybe Uncle Scrooge decided t'wake up and surprise everybody!"

"Yeah, right!"

The three decided to stop guessing and start investigating, practically gliding down the staircase, following the delectable aroma to the kitchen. What they saw there caused them to stop in the doorway and stare.

"Is that Fenton?" whispered Dewey.

"In our kitchen?" added Huey.

"Who cares! Free pancakes!" Louie shouted.

Fenton spun around just in time to catch the stampede of triplets before they could rush the prepared food, and he chuckled.

"Hey, now, you three, watch it! You're gonna ruin the surprise!"

"A surprise? For who?" Huey asked, while his brothers tried reaching for the plate behind Fenton.

"For your Uncle Scrooge, of course!" Fenton beamed, making sure to keep his voice low enough as not to awaken the rich duck from his slumber.

The kids gave up their struggle; stealing Uncle Scrooge's pancakes probably wasn't a wise choice. Fenton let them go.

"What for?" asked Louie. "Is it his birthday?"

Fenton shook his head.

"Nah, his birthday isn't until October." He quickly made a mental note to do something EXTRA special that day. "Nope, It's a symbol- or a metaphor, if ya would- for my undying loyalty and affection for your Uncle."

The kids just stared at him before blinking.

"So, uh," it was Huey that spoke first, trying to put the pieces together, " it's because you love him?"

"Ewww." Louie added. "That's MUSHY stuff!"

Fenton chuckled.

"Yeah, I suppose it is. But everybody likes being reminded that somebody cares 'bout 'em." The accountant's eyes glazed over slightly as he recollected a fond memory from his childhood- his mother popping frozen waffles into the toaster as he surprised both a young Fenton and his father with breakfast. "M'ma always told me a way to a man's stomach was through his heart."

Louie raised a brow.

"Isn't it supposed to be the other way around?"

"Aw, so… does that mean we can't have any pancakes?" Dewey asked sadly, genuinely heart broken that his excitement was for nothing. Fenton used his free hand to tap his bill in contemplation, before going to the cupboard and pulling out a few more plates. He set them on the table, using the fork to get a few of the cakes off the huge stack of flapjacks he had made for McDuck. The lads all grinned widely once more.

"Hey!"

"Ya know," Fenton added softly, before adding more cherry syrup on top of his stack and heading towards the door. "the thing about love pancakes is that they can be shared with anybody ya care about."

* * *

It was a good thing that Scrooge McDuck was an early riser by nature, or he may have been a little bit cranky when Fenton barged in at nearly dawn, spouting good morning.

Just kidding. The old duck was _livid_.

"Fenton?! What's all this? What are you doin' in my room at this hour?" he yelled. His shouting had little effect on Fenton's chipper mood, it seemed, as he placed a folding tray over Scrooge's lap, and set the breakfast feast down upon it.

"This is breakfast! 'Least, that's what M'ma always called it."

Scrooge glowered around the stack of pancakes.

"I know that! WHY did yeh bring me breakfast? You're not gettin' paid extra for it, y'know."

The younger mallard was taken aback by this comment as Fenton blinked a few times in astonishment. Did… did Scrooge forget about yesterday already? Was that a sign of dementia, brought on by old age? Were his years catching up with him, right when Crackshell had finally found the _real_ love of his life? … Maybe he should consult a book sometime to look up the symptoms.

Meanwhile, however, he kept his mouth shut on the matter as he reminded his boss of the previous evening.

"Well, gee sir, I wasn't expecting to get paid for it. Maybe a thank you or a lil' peck on the cheek, but I don't expect you to get out your pocket book for LOVE pancakes!"

Scrooge was just about to dig in the moment Fenton mentioned he wasn't expecting monetary gain- in all honesty, with Mrs. Beakley gone he had assumed he was going to have to take the lads out and actually PAY for their meals. But he dropped his fork, it clattering onto the wooden floor, at the mention of a kiss. Scrooge smacked away the plate, before jumping out of bed.

"Oh, I'll give ya _more_ than a lil' peck it you don't drop this nonsense. I THOUGHT we discussed this all yesterday!"

Fenton looked shocked, and then bashful.

"Well gee, I don't know if we're ready for anything MORE than a little peck-"

"Never mind! Read my beak; en- oh! No, it's not gonna happen, end of story!" Scrooge snapped, fixing the persistent accountant with a piercing glare before stomping over to his dressing screen to get changed for the day.

Fenton wasted no time in scurrying over to help him; it was merely in his nature!

"Here, let me help ya with-"

"OUT!"

Fenton was soon being shoved out of the room, the door slamming shut behind him. He almost felt a ping of hurt, before the accountant realized the old duck came from a different time. It was improper to undress in front of one's paramore, he supposed. Gee, what a gentleman! With this in mind, Fenton perked up as he knocked on the door- not waiting for a response before he hollered.

"Alright then, Scroogey- guess I'll get straight to work then. Or, uh, I mean… I'll go get _you-know-who_ so THEY can get to work." He paused before muttering to himself. "Maybe I should patrol the city first, then bin, those rumors of a certain duo changing zip codes makes me _awfully_ uncomfortable…"

* * *

Gizmoduck had been driving all morning, putting his unicycling abilities of justice to good use. However, it perturbed him that all was quiet… maybe even TOO quiet. Why, there was nothing that needed his help. No old ladies needing to cross the street, no poor little kittens stuck up in trees, not even a jaywalker could be spotted.

And least of all, there was no sign of Megavolt and his no good criminal clown buddy, Quackerjack.

"I just don't get it, " he stopped his driving as he pondered the situation over to himself. "It's just not like those two to play quietly. I might not know them like Wingy knows them, but I've handled them enough to know that something smells fishy." Gizmoduck turned to his side, and noticed he was standing in front of the local grocer's fish stand. "Er, and I don't mean that literally… _I think_."

As if his silent request for action had been answered, a shrill scream echoed off of the buildings and filled the once quiet streets. Gizmoduck gasped, looking in the general direction it had come from, engines revving and tire squealing as he took off down the street. It didn't take long to spot the victim; he just followed the screaming. Said victim, most likely a female, stood in the middle of the sidewalk, long black hair over a deep red sweater, facing away from him, shrieking at seemingly nothing.

Gizmoduck put on the brakes, stopping a fair distance away, glancing around, looking for what might be causing this woman's distress. Seeing nothing still, he wheeled up to her with caution.

"Uh, Ma'am? What seems to be the problem?" He reached a hand out and placed it on the woman's shoulder. When the woman made no move to indicate she even registered he was there, he gently spun her around to face him.

What he saw would give him nightmares for weeks to come.

What he assumed was a woman, was nothing of the sort. It was a robot, that much was certain, its pig-like face contorted in a fixed scream of terror, its eyes nothing more than deep black holes. A flash of red, beeping, and something burst from its chest. Its purpose fulfilled, the robot thing collapsed to the ground, its shrieking slowly winding down to nothing, finally falling silent.

But Gizmoduck noticed none of this. He was too busy trying frantically to pry the mechanical monstrosity that had burst forth from the woman, off of his chest, but to no avail. It held on stubbornly with long, spindly claws that resembled that of a set of large spider legs.

Unsettling, yet familiar cackling filled the street now, momentarily distracted him from his task. Spinning on his axel, Gizmoduck glared as he witnessed- standing on the roof of a nearby building, the likes of none other than Megavolt and Quackerjack. There they were laughing at his distress- mocking his plight. The mad mallard of the duo snuggled his banana-dolled companion as the rodent held onto what looked like to be…

Gizmoduck gasped.

"Drop that remote you no-good toy knapping cads- you AND your batteries have expired!"

Quackerjack giggled.

"Heh! Oh, I've always loved the toys with speaker boxes!"

The jester shook his doll, Banana Brain putting in his own two cents.

" _All the better to destroy, Roy_."

"Awww, what's wrong, Gizmodolt?" Megavolt teased. "Don't like your buttons being pushed?"

He clicked a button on the remote, causing the body of the spider-thing on Gizmoduck's chest plate to glow a crimson red. The hero gulped. Oh, that couldn't be good. His suspicions were confirmed as he felt himself take off against his own volition, as more insane cackling rang out behind him.

"Ohhhh not this again!" Gizmoduck cried, before screeching to a halt, also against his will.

"Hmmm, let's see here..." Megavolt mused out loud, glancing over the buttons on the remote, and pushing one at random. Down below, a small rocket launched from the Gizmosuit, shattering a storefront window across the street.

The jester ' _oooed'_ , his fingers tingling from excitement as he snatched the remote from his partner. He danced in place as he looked at the device with mad glee.

"AND it comes with _accessories_?! Boy oh boy, these things can be a choke hazard- not the toys your _parents_ would let the tater tots play with!" A pause before Quackerjack laughed again. " _Oh Megsy_ ," he cooed. " just what I always wanted! A superhero dunderhead of my own to play with. _Ya shouldn't have_!"

Quackerjack found himself gasping in surprise as Megavolt took the remote back- ignoring the kooky toy-maker-gone-wrong's pouting. The remote was quickly pulled out of Quackerjack's reach as he tried snatching it back. Megavolt continued to duck and contort, keeping it away from his loony pal.

Down below, Gizmoduck spun in place, chased after fleeing pedestrians (apologizing the whole time), and repeatedly smacked into the sides of buildings and parked cars.

"Remind me again why we're wasting a perfectly good weapon-packed robot on a stupid Whiffle Boy factory?" Megavolt whined, the display down on the street distracting him long enough to have the remote swiped back.

" _Because_ ," Quackerjack said with a drawl, " it's bad enough the kiddies in Saint Canard have to be tainted by Whiffle Boy's trash. But… But NOW, after that nasty old fuddy duddy went and bought the company, he had to go and spread his reign of terror HERE too? In the only city with the last Quackerjacks factory around?!"

The mad mallard sighed as he pushed a button, an explosion going off in the distance not giving him any glee. His sadness was quick to turn into a glare, as he began to push buttons like crazy- not having the slightest idea what each one did.

" _OOOOH, it just makes my blood BOIL!_ "

Megavolt gaped in disbelief and grabbed for it again, resulting in a tug of war between the two.

"Quit it, Quackerjack! You're gonna use up all the weapons!" Megavolt whined.

"Am not, am not! We'll just make more weapons!"

"Oooo, It doesn't work that way! Give it!"

"No!"

The two gasped and watched in horror, as an ill-fated tug and fumble sent the cherished remote tumbling over the side of the building, where it shattered on the sidewalk below. Gizmoduck, who was in the middle of spinning wildly as fireworks and rocket launchers expelled from his suit like crazy, suddenly found himself stopping- wobbling on his one wheel as he fought to stay upright.

Gizmoduck grabbed the side of his head as he tried to ease the whooziness.

"I know villains usually give us heros the ol' run-around, _but this is ridiculous_!"

Finding his balance, the robotic hero of justice looked down at his chest as he noticed some sparks coming from the horrifying monster satellite attached to it. Glaring, Gizmoduck ripped it from his chest and threw it to the ground, before spinning around and charging towards the two criminals.

It was Quackerjack who first noticed the angered duck coming towards them, as he jumped into Megavolt's arms- nearly causing the rodent to tumble over.

"YIPE! Mush, Sparky, MUSH! I don't think Gizmodork is _playing_ anymore!"

"Don't _call_ me that!" Megavolt yelled as he nevertheless obeyed and took off, more fear evident in his voice than actual anger.

"Leaving so soon?" Gizmoduck bellowed, easily bouncing atop the building and giving chase. "Why, I haven't even given you the proper warm welcome to our fair city yet!"

Gizmoduck aimed and fired a weighted rope at the fleeing criminals. They cried out in panic as it wrapped around them, just as Megavolt made a leap of faith (and perhaps stupidity), resulting in them dangling from the side of the building, instead of perhaps lying injured on the ground below.

"Oh, good!" Gizmoduck grinned, peering down at his haul. "I was hoping you two would hang around for a little while!"

Megavolt and Quackerjack both groaned.

"Do you HAVE to say that?" The electric rodent whined.

"Yeah, " the jester piped in, " isn't humiliation punishment enough without the wordplay?"

"You're worst than Dipwing Dork back home."

Gizmoduck beam became wider as he laughed at the villains' comments.

"I'm sorry you feel that way, boys. But I'm sure Darkwing is missing you back in Saint Canard almost as much as you're missing him." The hero pulled a phone from his chest as he began to call. "Speaking of which, let me ring him up about leaving his litter lying around. We keep the streets _clean_ around here."

* * *

The masked mallard of Saint Canard had NOT been happy to receive a call from the one hero he despised the most, he had doubly been peeved when he informed him that Gizmoduck had captured HIS villains and was wondering if the annoyance should bring them home to him. Oh, the guy was bragging- DW could tell, especially because it was exactly what he would have done in the same situation. Darkwing clutched his phone tightly, his sheer anger almost causing it to break as he yelled into the speaker.

"Oh no you don't! The LAST time you came over you brought a whole camera crew with you, and did everything in your power to make _me_ look like a useless bumbling bafoon. WELL, not THIS time, buster! I'LL be the one taking those unhinged, uncivilized, criminal crooks back home and behind bars- NOT YOU!"

"You got it, Wingy! I'll just keep 'em on ice until you get here, then. Be seeing you!"

There was a click before Darkwing had the chance to complain about the nickname, so he muttered and grumbled to himself, instead, as he grabbed his helmet.

He was still grumbling to himself as he sped through the streets on his ratcatcher; he distantly took notice of how more crowded the road was during the day.

As it turned out, Darkwing making the trip to Duckburg didn't make much of a difference; there were still a good number of news vans around by the time he got there, and he was still feeling pretty humiliated. Not to mention, ignored.

Here he was, Darkwing Duck, St. Canard's own caped crusader, hero extraordinaire, making a rare daytime public appearance, no less! And every camera in the vicinity was trained on Gizmoduck and his employer, Scrooge McDuck. Even Webra Walters was there, gushing over the dimwitted overgrown tin-can.

"Oh Gizmoduck, do tell us about your herwoic exploits and just how you captured the demented duo. Was it difficult?"

"Not at all, Webra- _mind if I call you Webra_? All it took was a little super hero intuition and a little elbow grease!"

Darkwing wasn't the only one who groaned from the sidelines, as the said criminals locked in the van behind the caped crusader joined him. It was Quackerjack, hands gripped around the bars, that spoke up first as venom leaked out of him.

"Gee, he sure is a lovable guy _ain't_ he?"

Quackerjack pulled out his doll once more.

" _Speak for yourself. He nothing more than spoiled stew, Lou._ "

The demented duck grimaced and gagged.

"Oh, I WISH you wouldn't say things like that, Mr. Banana-Brain. It makes me stomach turn somersaults!"

"If I have to listen to much more of his pretentious babbling, I'M gonna start _blowing chunks_!" Megavolt chimed in from the back. "Can you believe this guy? He makes YOU seem like a modest fella, Dipwing!"

Darkwing folded his arms, and scowled, despite feeling mildly better about not being the only one who wasn't buying into the overgrown trashcan's "charms".

"Gee, _thanks_."

"So, Gizmoduck," Webra was saying, completely ignorant of the bonding going on behind her. "Now that you've captured these two demented cwooks, what do you pwan to do now?"

"Well," Gizmoduck began, readjusting his visor, "as you know, a hero's work is never done. There's still my patrolling, as well as making an appearance at the policeman's ball."

It was the penny pincher's turn to interrupt.

"And your usual guarding of me money-bin."

"Oh right, that too! BUT, besides all that… I was thinking of asking a _special somebody_ if they'd like to go for a ride around town. Preferably tonight and with me." Gizmoduck smoothly placed a hand on his boss' shoulder, it taking everything in the old duck's power not to jump and flinch away from it. "Doesn't that sound enjoyable, Mr. McDuck?"

Scrooge scoffed.

"Aye, I suppose if you're into that sort of thing. I'm sure there's plenty a _lass_ around that would love nothin' more than t'have an evening alone with none other than Gizmoduck."

"Oh, uh..."

Although Gizmoduck had momentarily forgotten about the news cameras, they were still rolling, and a very interested Webra continued to hold her microphone out eagerly. 'Special somebody'. Did Gizmoduck have a girlfriend? The hero of the hour- the most eligible bachelor, smittened? Talk about ratings!

"Well, gee, thanks for saying so, Mr. McDuck, but I was referring to y-"

It was fortunate for both of them, that Scrooge was quick enough to reach up and clamp the chattering buffoon's bill shut before he could finish. He then gave the cameras an unwelcoming glare, and waved the microphones away with both of his hands.

"Alright, that's quite enough questions for t'day; we're both very busy people. Away with yeh!"

"But," Webra began, insisting they continue to roll, " but what about Gizmoduck's girlfwend?"

"Ask him on his own time, right now he's on the payroll!"

And with that Scrooge McDuck used the end of his cane to hook it around Gizmoduck's neck as he dragged him off- leaving a very confused group of reporters with more questions than answers.

* * *

And so Fenton's attempts at wooing the world's richest duck continued for the next few days- leaving McDuck with very few places to hide and find peace. His home life was constantly intruded upon by finding the lad popping up all over the mansion, and it was hard to escape somebody that worked for him as an employee. McDuck couldn't even relax properly in his bin, as he stressed about the notion that Fenton's head might pop out of the coins at any moment- with yet another declaration of love.

Quite frankly, Scrooge was at his wit's end! And he was full set on firing the guy, or at least, he would have if it weren't for the fact it was nearly impossible to hire anyone that worked for practically nothing. Still, the old miser fumed as Crackshell strolled into his office that Thursday evening- a bouquet of forget-me-nots in his hand and dressed his very best- right when Scrooge was set to clock out for the night.

"For mother McDuck's sake, Fenton- not THIS again!"

Fenton closed the door with a swing of his rump, and Scrooge noticed with a sinking feeling that the pep was definitely back in his step. When his accountant finally made it to his desk, he held out the flowers. Scrooge pushed them away, defiantly, but Fenton was undeterred.

"Now, now! I know what you're gonna say. But before you do, hear me out."

"No."

"Dinner, on me, one full night of fancy food at a fancy restaurant, at absolutely no cost to you! And all ya gotta do is say yes! Please, Scroogey? Just one night is all I ask; one night t'prove to you once and for all that I'm worth it!"

Scrooge opened his mouth, fully prepared to turn down the younger duck for what seemed like the hundredth time that week, when he quickly shut his bill.

"Did ya say ' _free'_?"

McDuck's stomach practically rumbled on the spot- it begging for a proper meal. With Mrs. Beakley gone for the week, the old miser had been cutting corners and doing his best to cut costs where he could. including the food department. That wasn't to say he, nor the lads, didn't eat! He wasn't heartless, after all, and would never let his boys starve. They just had a very strict diet of slightly spoiled milk and aged biscuits for the week- just until their housekeeper returned.

"So you're just saying I have t'go out with you _one_ night, sit with yeh as _you_ pay for the meal, and then I'm home, _scott free_? No more of any of this _ever_ again?"

"Well, yeah. But only if you didn't enjoy yourself!"

There was no doubt in Scrooge's mind that his point of view on the matter wouldn't change. Still… a free meal was a free meal. McDuck sighed, almost not believing what he was about to say.

"Alright Fenton, y'convinced me. I'll go out with you this once- and ONLY once!"

Fenton deflated in front of him, dropping the bundle of flowers on his desk, sighing dejectedly.

"Yeah, I figured you say that. Alright, I give up, I- _hold on_ , you said- _really_? You'll go?"

Scrooge found he couldn't stand looking at the lad's shining eyes anymore- it'd been far too long since he'd seen that look in someone else's' eyes, and it was in the last place he wanted to see it. Instead, he closed his own eyes, and cradled his head, which was already threatening to conjure up one heck of a headache.

" _Aye_. Let me get my jacket."


	5. Appraisal

Scrooge McDuck had never been one impressed by the fancier things in life- most likely why the other rich fuddy duddies in the city tended to avoid him and chose not to associate unless they had to. Not that the old miser liked their ilk either, so the feeling was mutual. No, the duck came from humble beginnings. He had worked for everything he ever had, not have it handed to him like many of the elite figureheads in town. So, besides his bin, fortune, and home, he chose to limit himself wherever he could. It was part of his success, after all!

Which was partly why, once the two ducks made their way outside, Scrooge scoffed at the sight of the long black limo that was waiting for them.

"A taxi would have been cheaper, ya know." McDuck muttered, adjusting his glasses. "And the city bus even more so."

"Cheap?" Fenton echoed, rushing ahead clumsily to open the limo door for his date. "Tonight isn't about cheap! It's about you, and me, and us! It about love, and there's nothin' cheap about that!"

Scrooge begrudgingly slid into the fancy ride, and gave Fenton an unimpressed look.

"Have y'heard the one about the best things in life bein' free, _by any chance_?" he asked, heavy on the sarcasm. Fenton looked shocked.

"Well no, actually, I-" he stopped talking when Scrooge slammed the door shut. Fenton shrugged, ran around to the other side, and slipped into the seat next to Scrooge.

"Ah-hem! Driver?" Fenton called, in an unnecessarily fancy accent. " _You may go._ "

Scrooge rolled his eyes and frowned. His gaze lingered out the window and as he watched his money-bin grow smaller and smaller as they drove off. When it was out of sight, he turned to Fenton.

"I don't suppose this no doubt overpriced bucket 'o bolts has a phone, does it? I should probably give the lads a call and let 'em know I'm gonna be late."

The driver, a swine looking fellow with no doubt some years under his belt, was the one that answered the old miser's question from the front seat.

"Armrest on your right, Mr. McDuck. Operated at a dollar per minute."

"' _A dollar per minute_ '?!" Scrooge repeated in shock, nearly clutching his chest from the thought of it. "That's highway robbery… _Literally_!"

Fenton tutted, wagging his finger as he pulled out some bills from the inside of his tux pocket.

"Now now, sir, I told you ya didn't have to worry about a thing." The middle aged duck handed over the money, Scrooge rolling his eyes from the lad's dramatics. "Just let your good ol' Sugar Daddy take care of ya!"

McDuck snatched the money from the younger duck's hand, glaring.

"Fenton, do me a favor, would ya?"

"Of course, my sweets! Just name it!"

" _NEVER_ say that again."

Scrooge's free hand tapped impatiently on the door handle as it rang on the other end.

"Come on, come on, pick up!" he muttered, not sure if his minute started as soon as the number was dialed, or when it was picked up.

When it was answered, Duckworth greeted him, and that was fine.

"Duckworth! I haven't got much time; I'm on a payphone. An expensive payphone. Just let the lads know I'm gonna be a wee bit late t'night, and I'll bring 'em home a doggy bag for dinner. Got that? _Good._ "

Scrooge quickly hung up, and took a deep breath, relaxing back into his seat. Just using the thing, whether it was his money or not, was making him jittery. Back at the mansion, Duckworth turned towards the triplets, who were sitting at the table behind him playing cards, and conveyed the message.

"Is he on a date with Fenton?" Louie asked, making a face. The enthusiastic accountant had mentioned something of the like to them earlier in the week.

"I don't know." Duckworth shrugged. "I don't get paid to ask questions."

Dewey whispered to his brother, cupping his hand as he used the other to add another uno card to their growing pile.

" _I think that's grown-up talk for 'yes'._ " The triplet sat back up, a look of confusion on his own face. "Though, I kinda can't believe it- they've been playing cat 'n mouse all week. What made Uncle Scrooge change his mind?"

"I can believe it, " Huey added lazily- bored out of his mind. " You know Uncle Scrooge- he'd do almost _anything_ if ya throw the word 'free' in front of it."

Their conversation was put on hold by their butler clearing his throat, a look of discomfort on his face.

"Be that as it may, I still doubt Master McDuck would appreciate you three gossiping behind his back." Duckworth rolled up his sleeves before taking a seat at the table as well- a look of determination on his face. "So how about dealing an old man in, and let's forget all about it. Agreed?"

" _Agreed._ "

* * *

Scrooge, however, didn't have the luxury of forgetting as his… _evening companion_ kept on blabbering the whole ride to the restaurant. _Le Cher Canard_ couldn't have greeted them sooner, as far as the old mallard was concerned. Scrooge didn't even wait for Fenton to hustle out of the vehicle, as he opened the door on his own and stepped out- taking a deep breath of the cool night air. It had gotten far too stuffy inside the limousine- both metaphorically speaking and not.

Scrooge continued with his impatience, not in the mood to wait around as he started toward the building; the sooner they got this over with, the sooner he could get back home and put this whole nightmare behind them. He jumped when he felt something hook around his arm. Snatching his arm away, he glared at Fenton, who smiled back at him, sheepishly.

"Cut that out, would ya?" Scrooge snapped, and quickened his pace. If Fenton opened one more door for him this night, he just may lose it.

As the man at the front desk went over their reservations, Scrooge took a disapproving look around the place. It was fancy, alright; the kind of place you paid an arm and a leg just for the atmosphere. The kind of place you needed an accountant just to read the menu prices. The billionaire guessed he lucked out in that one department. He then scowled, rolled his eyes, and grunted at this thought.

The good thing about reservations was the fact one usually didn't have to wait too long before they were ready to be seated. And the same was said for the two ducks as their waiter was quick to grab a couple of menus and escort them to their table. McDuck found his glower intensifying as they passed by other diners, the women chatting in approval of 'the nice young fellow taking his grandfather out for dinner'. _UGH_. If the old miser wanted to be reminded of his age, he would have just stared at his birth certificate- and he didn't need help from anyone for that!

They finally reached their table, where Fenton was quick to grab and pull out a chair for his date. Scrooge gave him an unimpressed look, but nonetheless took the seat offered to him. WELL, if anything could be said about Crackshell, it was that his mother somehow found time in between commercials to teach her son SOME manners. Scrooge adjusted his glasses as the menu was placed in front of him.

Their waiter, a duck young enough to call both of his table's guests 'old', pulled out his order book as he was prepared to take their drinks.

"Hello, welcome to Le Cher Canard, I'll be your server for the night. Can I start you off with drinks?"

"Aye, water for me, _thanks_." was McDuck's simple reply.

It was never as simple with Fenton Crackshell. He cleared his throat, before pointing to the wine selection with a flourish.

"This stuff comes in bottles, right? We don't want any of the boxed stuff- we're goin' all out tonight!"

The waiter sneered, almost as if he was disgusted by the very notion of them owning such a thing.

"Yes, sir. We only serve the finest wine here, _I assure you_."

"Good! ... Wow!" Fenton read over the wine menu. "You guys even have wine from the year two-thousand-fifty-nine? Time travelling wine, now I really _am_ impressed!"

Scrooge swiped Fenton's menu and swatted him with it.

"That's not the year, you dolt; that's the price!" he glanced at the waiter. "Just bring a glass of your cheapest wine. Water it down, if that'll water down the price."

"Oh no you don't!" Fenton interjected, before the clearly annoyed waiter could finish writing the scant order down. "Bring us a whole bottle of the stuff. Make it two! Tonight's real special."

It was Scrooge's turn to stand and holler.

"Ignore him, he's obviously lost _what little mind he has_. Just bring us a fourth of a bottle, and that's FINAL."

And the waiter took it as the final say on the matter, quickly jotting down the order before either one of them could change it. The duck cleared his throat, as he put away his pen.

"Yes, well, I'll be sure to bring your drinks shortly. As well as your complimentary basket of our specialty biscuits. DO look the menu over, and feel free to alert me if there is anything I can help you two… _gentlemen_ with."

Scrooge scoffed as the waiter walked away, off to place their order. The old mallard had been around long enough to tell when he was being mocked. Crackshell, however, was just as oblivious as usual as he was already deep into his menu looking over the dishes.

"' _Fruits de mer_ ' means seafood, right?" Fenton asked, peeking over his menu. "Mer… mermaid. yeah, that makes sense, I guess. I mostly ask 'cause I heard these french folk eat some weird food. I mean, I _might_ be talked into fruit n' fish, _but that snail stuff is going too far_!"

While Scrooge was far from considering himself to be high society, it was moments like this that reminded him of just how uncultured his accountant was. Scrooge shook his head, and sunk behind his menu. He didn't have much of an appetite tonight. It seemed almost a blessing when the waiter returned with their drinks- a glass of ice water for Scrooge, and a partial bottle of wine for Fenton. Scrooge frowned as he stared at the ice in his glass- they had better not charge extra for that. A basket of biscuits was placed in the center.

"Are you gentlemen ready to order?" the waiter asked.

"I think so! I'll have one of these numbers..." Fenton pointed to an item on the menu, not quite trusting himself to pronounce it right. "Oh! And some of these, too."

"Very well. And you, sir?" he turned to take Scrooge's order. But the old man simply pulled the basket of cheddar biscuits closer, and grabbed one.

"I'll be fine with these, thanks." he replied, curtly, and took a bite. Admittedly, they were delicious compared to the stuff he had been eating since Mrs. Beakley had left.

"Oh, come on, Scroogey! Don't be like that!" Fenton pleaded. "Order something! Anything! What about the kids, huh?"

"I'll bring 'em home some of these- what's good enough for _me_ , is good enough for _them_."

"In that case," the middle aged duck turned towards the waiter, a look of determination and defiance on his face that genuinely surprised the billionaire. " _My good sir_ , get him the soup of the day. And three slices of double chocolate chip cake. But, uh, make those in boxes for when we leave."

The waiter was quick to write down their meals, and left- not wanting to be around the uncivilized pair any longer than he had to. Once he was gone, Fenton's smile returned once more as he took out the bottle of wine from the ice bucket (as well as two glasses) and began to split what was there between them. He hummed, as Scrooge decided to speak up what was on his mind.

"Ya know, while I appreciate the sentimentality behind it… I don't need you spoiling me nephews."

"'Spoiling'?" Fenton put back the cork as he took a sip of his drink, the pear taste was strong but not unpleasant. " Naw, I don't think those kids know the meaning of the word! I can't see you raising any brats, Scroogey. That said, _never hurts to have your cake and eat it too_."

"Aye, it can hurt plenty..." Scrooge muttered under his breath.

They waited for, at least to Scrooge McDuck, what seemed like hours. Fenton attempted to start idle conversations during their wait, and the old mallard replied shortly, or with hmphs or grunts. Scrooge was annoyed, bored, and agitated. Dating, pah! Was this what kids these days went on about? At least when people his age went on about the weather, it had a practical use!

When the food finally did arrive, Scrooge found that the beef vegetable soup was actually pretty tasty- the biscuits even more so when dipped into it. Not that he bothered mentioning this to Fenton- and not that accountant likely would have heard him if he had. Scrooge watched in slight revulsion as Fenton dug into his food as if he hadn't eaten a decent meal in years. Manners? What manners! And yet, his display was such an interesting, and almost welcome, contrast to this snooty setting, that the old mallard couldn't help the smirk he felt tugging at the corners of his mouth.

" _Enjoying your meal_?" McDuck asked, amusement laced in his voice.

Fenton looked up from his plate of lobster alfredo as he slurped the pasta noisily. The accountant actually found his heart fluttering in his chest as he locked eyes with his boss- who was busy leaning forward on the table with his head in his hands, eyelids halfway closed with a smile on his bill. Fenton gulped, before nervously laughing.

"Oh, heh, yeah actually. I'm mostly used to M'ma warming up tv-dinners, and half the time they're still frozen. So nice to have a genuine hot meal for once, ya know?"

"Hmm," Scrooge hummed in thought as he digested the words over, before sitting back up again. "Not to be a broken record, Fenton, but y'don't have to eat slop from a place like this to have a hot meal. We could've just went to a kebab shop, or something of the likes."

"And miss out on the atmosphere? _Naaah_. I like seeing you in a place like this." Crackshell went back to looking at his plate as he poked at his noodles. He smiled awkwardly. "You kinda sparkle more when you're in a room full of people- like a surprise diamond in a pile of coal! _Makes me feel a little special._ "

Scrooge chuckled, despite himself. He had become immune to flattery over the years, but it had still been enough to lighten his mood considerably.

"If you think this is impressive, you should see me in a room of actual diamonds."

Fenton swallowed his mouthful of food loudly, grinned, and nodded.

"Hey, yeah, I'd love to! We should do that next."

Scrooge considered mentioning that he had been kidding, but realized there was little point. Instead he sighed, and shook his head.

"No, I don't think so, Fenton. I don't think I can handle any more excitement tonight."

" _Oh_ ," McDuck noted the lad seemed disappointed. However, just as quick as it came it also went, Fenton's usual chipper mood returning. "That's okay, don't wanna do everything on a first date. Gotta save SOME things for next time!"

Scrooge neglected to bring up the fact that there wasn't going to _be_ a next time. Bah, he could let the duck dream a little. No harm in just dreaming. McDuck shrugged as he reached out for his own glass of wine, slowly taking a sip. However, he nearly spit it out when his ears were suddenly assaulted by the likes of loud music. The old miser turned to his left, glaring at the violin player that decided to grace the two with his presence.

"Do you _MIND_ ," Scrooge growled, "I don't use hearing aids, an' I was plannin' on KEEPING it that way!"

The violinist glanced at the guy who had paid him to come by and play, and Fenton made silent shoo-ing gestures. The man shrugged and left. He wasn't giving a refund. When Scrooge looked at Fenton, the accountant grinned toothily and chuckled awkwardly.

"The nerve of some people, _am I right_? Say, how's about we get out of here and go someplace a little quieter, huh? Check please, check!"

Except there was no check involved- Fenton paid in cash only. Scrooge felt his stomach roll as he watched the transaction, and made a mental note to triple check Fenton's salary- if tonight was any indication, he was obviously being paid far too much.

Once outside, however, McDuck found himself facepalming as Fenton patted his pockets- desperately trying to find something to pay the limo driver so he would at least drive the two back to McDuck's mansion. Discovering he was flat broke was enough for the driver to speed off, leaving the two with a couple hour walk back home.

"Fenton, ya big oaf!" Scrooge waved his cane as the younger mallard used the bags in his hands to hide from his rage. "I TOLD you y'were spending too much in there! But nooo, you had t'buy your five hundred dollar wine and three huge slices of cake. _Y'happy, now_? Now we'll have to WALK all the way back!"

Fenton laughed nervously.

"Heh, well, GEE Mr. McDuck, that doesn't sound too bad to me. They always say a walk after a meal is good for the digestion!"

Scrooge swung his cane again, just barely missing his accountant.

"You wouldn't know what's good fer yeh if it landed on your head!" The old duck huffed before stomping off the parking lot- in the direction he presumed was home. His employee chased after him to catch up. " _Ya know what?_ I don't want t'hear a PEEP outta you the whole way there. Bad enough I have to walk, I don't need your commentary on top of it all!"

Fenton's heart sank into his stomach- there was so much he wanted to say, to ask. Had Scrooge enjoyed himself, even a little? Did this mean no second date? The silence was proving to be more deadly than straight-out rejection! But he endured it. For Scrooge. The not-knowing was eating him alive, but he remained quiet, as he plodded along after his date. Or was he back to just being his boss, now? No matter. It was still polite to walk his employer to the door- even if said door was still miles away.

The void was filled a little when Scrooge spoke up, as they were cutting through a park. Fenton had almost never been so happy to hear the old mallard's voice! _Almost._

"You can go on home, Fenton." he said, his tone not angry, as Fenton feared it might be. Just tired. Scrooge sat down carefully on a nearby park bench. "You've walked me far enough, I think I can manage from here. After a short break, of course."

Crackshell stood there awkwardly, just staring at his boss as he thought over what he should do. It wasn't a demand that he leave, McDuck just said he COULD go. If he wanted. Fenton didn't want to. And it was with that in mind that the middle aged duck plopped next to the old miser- leaving enough room between them so as to not overcrowd the duck.

Silence lasted only a little longer after that, as Fenton broke the ice with something that had been on his mind as of late.

"Hey, uh, sir… Do you mind if I asked ya something?"

Scrooge had to fight his instinct to glare as he side-eyed the other.

"If ya must."

"How DID ya become the richest duck in the world, anyhow?"

It was McDuck's turn to be confused as he turned himself towards his accountant, raising a brow.

"... You've already the story about me number one dime, Fenton. _Countless times._ "

"No no, " the younger mallard shook his head, waving his arms almost as if to erase what the other had said. " _I get that._ I meant, what kept'cha going? What all did you _do_? What adventures did you go on?" Fenton scooched a little closer on the bench- still being mindful about giving his boss some space. "It's just, I always hear about you being inspired by your ol' dime, but you never talk about what you did afterwards to EARN your fortune. What, did you just wake up one day and go 'I'm gonna be rich' and BAM, it happened? _What's your secret?_ "

Scrooge scoffed.

" _Pfft._ There IS no secret. It's the same thing I'm always telling yeh- I worked hard. And when working hard wasn't enough, I began t'work _smarter._ " McDuck smiled as memories began to flood him, sweeping him into a tide of lives long since passed. " I invested my time and interests into areas most didn't think about. Or even said were foolish. I was practically penniless when I came to this country- all I had was me first dime and kilt to my name. And…"

The old miser paused as he regarded his companion next to him.

"Do you _REALLY_ want to sit through this? It's a long story."

Fenton's eyes were wide with wonder- he was hooked onto every word that came out from his boss' bill.

"I got the time if you do!"

Scrooge was never one to turn down stories about his adventures- having spent many a lazy afternoon retelling the tales of how he acquired his fortune, to his nephews. And so he began with the time he helped his Uncle Angus- affectionately and not-so affectionately referred to as Captain Pothole- set sail down the Ohio River in his rickety little steamboat. He, as well as with Gyro's great grandfather Ratchet Gearloose, had helped Pothole win a small fortune from crossing the Mississippi River- something at that time that had been quite the feat. However, once he uncle switched careers, so did the young Scrooge McDuck.

"Wait," Fenton said, as he interrupted, "So you're telling me your uncle gave up bein' a captain so he could just sit around and write _books_?"

Didn't sound as exciting. The old mallard, however, laughed off the insult.

"Aye, an' he was good at it, too." Scrooge smiled as he adjusted his glasses, "Though, I could simply be biased 'bout the material, seein' as the subject matter was _rather dear t'me person."_

Crackshell was momentarily silent before he cleared his throat, grabbing McDuck's attention once more.

" _Soooo_ … do said novels still exist?"

"Probably not. _Now_ are y'gonna listen to MY stories, or are we gonna have t'call it quits?"

Fenton miming the actions of zipping his bill did little to convince the older duck that he would stay silent. Still, Scrooge took that as a cue to continue. Next up was his cowboy days- back when the duck was a cattle rancher for business men in Montana. His travels sent him all over the great plains, at that time going by the name 'Buck'- given to him by his fellow cowpoke.

" _Eh_ … Why 'Buck', though?"

McDuck laughed, recalling how his horse Hortense would always try to throw him off his saddle.

"Oh, heh. _No reason_."

From cattle ranching was catching cattle thieves with the help of good ol' pre-politics Teddy Roosevelt. However, it was after all that hassle that McDuck discovered he had a nose for sniffing out gold. From finding gold ores, to mining in both the African and the Alaskan plains, Scrooge was able to within half a decade gather his first million.

"The kin were so proud of me, too." The old miser recollected fondly, picturing his father and his sisters. "Which was a good thing, considerin' half me fortune at the time went straight back home- to Scotland- t'pay the morgage on the family castle."

Whether he previously thought it possible or not, at that moment, Fenton's love and respect for the guy grew even stronger; family was important. He could just imagine the look on his dear M'ma's face if he struck it big one day, and sent some home to her.

"Wow!" Fenton's eyes sparkled. "What about your second million? Your third? Your hundredth?"

Scrooge chuckled, and used his cane to stand up off of the bench.

"Y'don't really want to sit here all night, listenin' to an old man prattle on about his youth, now do yeh?"

A bolt of disappointed panic struck Fenton as Scrooge began walking away, not waiting for an answer. Before he could stop himself, his arm shot out and grabbed the tail of his boss' jacket.

"Wait! I do! Please?"

Scrooge stopped, turned, and looked at the duck on the bench, the younger drake looking at him with eyes so full of pleading it was almost pathetic.

"It's just... you've led such an exciting life! You've been to so many places, met so many people, you've been a bunch of things! Your whole life is like a big 'ol adventure-y action movie!" Fenton shadowboxed the air to his left for emphasis, before deflating, and sighing.

"Whereas my life's just been one long used car commercial. I guess it's been nice hearing about a life better lived for a change! Would ya tell me a little more? _Please_?"

McDuck stood there for a few minutes, staring at the accounting pleading for him to go on. The old duck sighed, realizing what a softie age had made him, as Scrooge sat back down on the bench. Fenton cheered silently as he followed the mallard's example.

"This isn't a fairy tale ending that YOU'D enjoy, though. Making money requires sacrifices." Scrooge looked momentarily somber as he thought of all the mistakes he had made throughout his existence. " _Sometimes too many sacrifices._ Fenton, a fortune can mean many things: to some, an easier life; to others, a means to survive. But _NEVER_ will money buy you happiness. As simple a lesson as this may be, it took me _far_ too long t'realize it."

The old mallard dug into his pocket, pulling out a stray coin. He regarded it gravely, almost forgetting that he had an audience, before carrying on.

"Money doesn't make you a _somebody_. Riches, adventures… it's all rather pointless if y'have nobody t'share it with."

"Oh no." Fenton whined from beside him. "This is the part where the hero talks about his life's biggest tragedies. And me without any tissues!"

Had it been anyone but Fenton, and the genuinely vulnerable expression on the accountant's face, Scrooge may have thought he was being mocked.

"Well, I don't _have_ t'tell you. I suppose we'll save it for another-"

"No! I'm fine. I'll be fine. Please continue."

McDuck raised a brow before shrugging. Well, if he was sure . The mallard already lived the life, he knew what was to come in his story- and he wasn't exactly looking forward to it. Scrooge crossed his leg over his knee as he pondered on how to phrase what he wanted to say.

"Well, it's no surprise t'me that I'm not exactly a _favorite_ in Duckburg." Scrooge put up a hand to shut up the buttering he knew was to come. "No, I don't need yeh t'tell me otherwise. I may not have lied and cheated t'get to where I am today… But I pushed people away. I became suspicious that everyone I ever knew was after some inheritance, and my temper n' accusations were enough t'send me sisters and family packin'. Being alone was good for a while. It's always easier to manage when you tell yourself you _chose_ to be that way."

McDuck put his coin back into his pocket, before turning towards the lad next to him.

"But, ya know… All that time, my fortune growing by the day, and I still wasn't happy. Sure, I found ways to make up for being lonesome- I threw myself into my work, I made sure I was in the thick o' the action in every business risk I took. But, none o' that really _meant_ something… That is, until my nephew Donald decided to list into the Navy and leave three young boys behind with an old penny pinching lout."

Fenton took a second to put the pieces together. As soon as he did, he gasped and smiled wide.

"Huey, Dewey, and Louie, of course! Did the power of familial love melt that icy heart of yours? Break down your emotional walls? Teach y'how to love again?"

Scrooge glanced at Fenton, clearly annoyed. This lad obviously watched too much sappy daytime television and movies.

"They broke walls, alright, but not emotional ones. At least not at first. Let's just say, it took awhile for me to, _warm up_ to the idea."

Crackshell sighed contently, practically turning into a pile of mush over just picturing all the times his boss showed his affection towards his great-nephews. It was no secret that he loved those boys dearly. From the way he would set time aside if the children needed him to, to how the frugal duck would actually spend money to fill up their room so that it was full of all sorts of toys and games. Heck, even the fact he took the lads with him on adventures was enough of a telling sign that Scrooge wanted to spend all the time he had left with them.

Boy, what Fenton wouldn't do to have some of that love- even the teenest tiniest amount- shine down on him. One would have to be a very special person in order for Mr. McDuck to pay them half a mind. A special somebody even.

"I'm sure the boys care for you just as much as you care for them, sir. Why, it's obvious they look up n' adore their favoritest of favorite uncles!" He couldn't say much about what type of guy that Donald fellow was, anyway. "Heck, I feel privileged just t'know ya! It's kinda hard to even believe you're real, ya know?"

Scrooge shook his head, but couldn't help but smirk. It seemed flattery was just in Fenton's nature, something the guy couldn't turn off. Still, it was nice to hear these things from time to time.

"Aye, we get along just fine now. Usually. And you'd better believe I'm as real as they come!" Scrooge paused here to chuckle, and then looked at his accountant, expression soft but serious.

"Life isn't easy, Fenton. And it's not supposed t'be, either. Anything worth havin' comes with a hefty price tag; the trick is to know when the payout's worth it!"

Fenton thought this over... he thought of the ways it related to him, and what it meant. Finally, he shifted his gaze to the ground, where he rolled a pebble around with his foot.

"So... what do you do when you're one-hundred percent sure, _no doubt whatsoever_ , that the payout is worth it? What then? How does someone go about obtaining that payout... if they're not exactly worth the payout themselves?"

Scrooge, foolishly assuming that Fenton was referring to riches, and becoming a somebody- striking it big and moving up in the world- placed a hand on the shoulder of the forlorn-looking duck beside him. When Fenton looked back up at him, he replied with a smile.

"Those who make the effort and don't give up, are always worth the payout, Fenton Crackshell."

And like that, the middle aged duck felt something wash over. His body tingled, those butterflies returning as they flapped wildly in his stomach- to the point that Fenton feared they might cause him soaring into the air. _He was worth it._ He, Fenton Crackshell, was worth it. Boy, was he glad it was dark out and McDuck couldn't see what a blushing fool he was being. It was just… nobody had ever said anything quite that meaningful to the duck before. Fenton had lived his whole life feeling like a burden, that he was just taking up space in the great big world. That he was nothing but a big ol' bother.

But Scrooge McDuck, the most special somebody in the whole wide world- if not the universe- had told him that he was worth it.

Fenton Crackshell had never felt more like a somebody than he had in that very moment. And it was while swept up in the euphoric high of giddiness and emotional acceptance, Fenton- _the somebody_ \- found himself throwing his arms around his boss as he showed his gratitude in the only way he knew how.

Fenton Crackshell had dared to kiss a god.

And there were fireworks, alright, but they were likely caused by the mighty cane-blow to the head it earned him, before being shoved off of the bench with impressive force.

"WHAT WAS THAT?" Scrooge's cry of angry bewilderment rolled and echoed through the deserted park. Fenton looked up at him from the ground, rubbing the lump that was already beginning to rise on his noggin.

"...A kiss?" Fenton dared to guess. His eyes crossed as the tip of Scrooge's cane was shoved into his face.

"I'm startin' t'see why Gandra left you. You're a selfish duck; you only think about yourself and what you want!"

"B-b-but that's not true! I do nice things for those I care about all the time!" Fenton stammered.

" _Oh_ ," the old mallard said with a sneer, " and I suppose I _wanted_ that… that _THING_ then?"

"Uh, well.. I.. I had _hoped_ -"

" _Hoped that I would suddenly change my mind_? That all my feelings would suddenly jus' get thrown out like yesterday's garbage?" Scrooge raised his cane, his own reddened fury making him want to hit the duck under his feet once more. " I TOLD you I didn't feel that way, I TOLD yeh that I jus' wanted… wanted _whatever_ crazed notions you cooked up in that thick head o' yours t'jus' _go away_.

"But no, it didn't matter what _I_ wanted. With you it NEVER does! When somebody tells you 'no', you think that just means 'for now'. When somebody tells you 'I don't want it'- you… you think YOU know better!"

Scrooge McDuck whipped around in a flash, turning on his heels. His anger had built up so much inside of him that he just needed to HIT something. Something hard, and _over and over and over again_. It was the bench that met McDuck's heated fury, instead of the duck he truly wanted to harm.

Fenton cringed every time the bench was pounded. His sharp instincts told him that Scrooge might be _a little bit angry_ with him. The line of cuss words aided in this assumption. The brutal assault on the bench didn't let up until the old wood cracked in two. The destruction of property he would no doubt have to pay to replace, seemed to bring Scrooge out of his fit, but did nothing to improve his mood.

"I'm going home." his voice was steady, but cold. "If _you_ don't want to be the one in the hospital this time, _I'd suggest keeping your distance._ "

But Fenton had no plan of chasing after his boss after that. He didn't even bother getting up off of the ground. He just watched Scrooge leave, sadly, and when the old mallard was finally out of site, the crushed duck sat there and sobbed openly and loudly for a very long time.


	6. Rollover

The weekend ended up flying by far faster than Scrooge McDuck would have liked. Not to say he was usually a fan of the two day rest break- in fact, the old mallard tended to get antsy when he would wait around his mansion. While he could have used the time studying about lost artifacts, or going over figures, or even spending the afternoons with his great-nephews… It still wasn't the same as actually spending his time more productively, doing his all time favorite past time- making money. (" _And if you weren't busy making it, that meant you were busy spending it."_ Not a thought McDuck liked to think about.) However, this time was different. A sense of dread found its way passing through his stomach every time he looked at the clock- watching the minutes tick by. For the first time the penny pincher wasn't looking forward to work, and having to be there. Or more like whom he would run into.

And it was all because he dreaded having to see one Fenton Crackshell.

No, that wasn't entirely true. Scrooge McDuck actually hadn't had a single instance of thought regarding that crazed bookkeeper. Why would he? The lad wasn't even a blip on his radar. Even as the old mallard puttered around his home, his mind seemed to occupy itself with everything BUT Fenton. ' _What's for breakfast? The boys are being awfully noisy, maybe I should tell them t'keep it down. Ah, this place is becoming a pigsty; when is Mrs. Beakley coming home?'_

And yet, every so often, when he would least expect it, a sliver of a thought would form.

' _How is he?'_

As Saturday rolled into Sunday, and Sunday inched its way toward Monday morning, that feeling of dread transgressed into something resembling a kind of anxious relief. Whatever traces of guilt he was feeling- a foolish thing to be feeling in this situation, as far as Scrooge was concerned- would be washed away the moment he saw the chipper young doof. Fenton had a heart of sunshine and a brain of rubber; negative feelings never stuck with the guy for very long.

Yup, Fenton would be back to his old peppy self, and everything would be fine.

But Monday morning finally arrived, Gizmoduck was three hours late, and nothing was fine. Worry quickly turned into anger as Scrooge paced back and forth in front of his bin.

"On strike, is he? Thinks he can throw a fit when things don't go his way, and skip out on work, does he? Well he's got another thing comin'!"

Scrooge didn't waste any more time as he ordered Duckworth to drive him to where he knew his lazy accountant to be. The old, but functional, car was a big contrast to the rest of the trailer park- while 'Happy Acres Trailer Park' wasn't an unkept location… It certainly wasn't the ritz either. Not that any of that mattered- the duck spotting the trailer he was looking for. Scrooge, not even taking the time for pleasantries like knocking, burst into the home.

"Alright Fenton, I know you're here! No use hiding from me!"

"Keep it down, would ya?" M'ma Crackshell snapped from her chair. "I'm tryin' to watch my soaps here."

Scrooge shut the door softly behind him.

"Oh, sorry. Er... I don't suppose your son's home, is he?"

"In 'is room. Down the hall." M'ma pointed with her thumb, not even bothering to look away from her television. Scrooge thanked her and stomped off down the hall, and pounded on the door that was shut.

"Fenton Crackshell! You get out of there this instant, and explain t'me what's so important that _you-know-who_ is three hours late!"

Scrooge was greeted by inaudible sounds from behind the door. The old mallard looked quizzical as he tried to hear- even going far as pressing his ear to the door.

" _What?_ I can't understand _a word_ you're saying!"

More words that weren't quite words were garbled, and the old duck had enough. Groaning from frustration, McDuck used his foot to kick open the door, making his way inside. What he saw in the room, besides what was obviously a mess of dirty laundry and empty boxes of used tissues, was a bundle of blankets on the bed. His accountant nowhere to be seen. Right when Scrooge was about to call out for the duck again, he was startled to see the pile on the bed move- the head of Fenton peeking out. The lad was a wreck, his eyes puffy and sore from the no doubt endless hours of blubbering under his bedsheets. Scrooge found himself silent as he stared at this mess of a mallard he once knew.

Luckily for him, Fenton had a horrible habit of not staying quiet for too long. His eyes water as he opened his bill- a hoarse and strained voice breaking the silence.

"What are you doing here, sir? Shouldn't you be at work?"

McDuck was flabbergasted.

"' _Shouldn't I'?!_ I can't- how- I WAS at work ya blubbering bafoon! That is, until I noticed that SOMEBODY didn't even bother to get their sorry self out of bed and into work!"

There was a short silence between them. Fenton shifted under the heap of blankets, causing part of it to slide down over his face. Only his bill stuck out now.

"Well, ya shouldn't have bothered. You were right; I'm selfish, _just a blight on society._ Not even worth the air I breathe, the dirt I walk on! I'm ashamed." Now even his bill retreated back under the heap of blankets, and Scrooge had to strain to hear the rest. "I'm sorry I wasted your time, Mr. McDuck. But I won't anymore. I'm taking your advice, and keeping my distance. Forever! I... _I resign._ "

Scrooge stared at the pile of blankets for a while, the words whirling around in his brain. Finally, he spoke, and when he did, there was no trace of the anger it had previously held.

"...And Gizmoduck?"

Fenton's bill poked back out, long enough to mutter two words, "Him, too." before disappearing again.

Okay, that was it. Enough was enough. The old duck felt his temper return as he stomped towards the bed and grabbed a corner of the cover currently hiding the younger mallard. It was with one big pull that the blankets came flying off- Fenton crashing onto the dirty floor with it.

" _Oh no you don't, Fenton._ I'm tired of this mope fest you've decided to put yourself in. _Toughen up._ I've invested way too much time and effort into you fer yeh t'just quit now. _I need you._ And I need Gizmoduck!"

Who else would there be to guard his precious bin?

Fenton, however, just looked up at his boss pitifully from the floor.

"No, what you need is somebody competent, Scroogey. Somebody that knows when they've gone too far. A somebody that won't… " The accountant felt his words hitch in his throat as he tried to talk. Finally he just couldn't hold it in anymore as both his words and his tears burst from him. " _Somebody that won't just bumble things up like I always do!_ "

Scrooge frowned at the duck weeping at his feet. No, bawling. He hated to see a grown duck cry.

"Fenton, quit your blubberin'!" he demanded. But the former accountant did no such thing. If anything, his wailing only became louder.

"You're just bein' silly, now, I didn't mean-" he could barely hear himself over it now. It was getting hard to think in here, and it was becoming glaringly obvious that nothing Scrooge could say was going to fix this right now. McDuck sighed, left the room, and shut the door behind him, if only to help block out some of the noise. Now to just get back to his bin and start figuring out what he was going to do until Giz-

He was halted by the old woman standing in his way. She regarded him with uninterested, tired eyes.

"Sounds like that went well." she noted, sarcastically. "Came to finish breaking the poor kid's heart, I see."

McDuck found himself startled and surprised for the second time that day, his eyes wide as he regarded the mother blocking the exit.

"I, _but how_?"

Mrs. Crackshell rolled her eyes.

" _Please_ , Fenton tells me everything. He's been crying about it all weekend." The woman's expression turned more towards exhaustion as she recalled the tiring event. "Been hard to watch anything. _The kid never shuts up_."

Scrooge, the spell of bewilderment that was over him finally broken, looked at Mrs. Crackshell sternly. He adjusted his spectacles as he peered at her over them.

"So… you know what he did then?"

"Yeah, he spent a load of dough to buy you dinner and then kissed you. _Big whoop._ Not like it's the first time it's happened to somebody."

" _I beg to differ_ ," the old mallard cried, "it was a first fer me!"

M'ma's brows lifted in what very well could have been mild surprise.

"Really? Handsome and rich, I woulda' guessed that sort of thing was the norm for someone like you."

Scrooge didn't know if he was supposed to be flattered or offended.

"I beg your pardon, what's that supposed t-"

"Ah, well, not like it matters. It's over now, right? Broke his heart clean in two, I'm guessing. Made sure to tell him he's scum? _Worthless?_ Not worth your time?"

Scrooge was flabbergasted.

"I said no such things! And I won't; it's not true! None of it!"

M'ma shifted her stance, her hands fell to her hips. She regarded Scrooge with a raised brow.

"Oh? Then what's the problem?"

"I… well…" The old mallard couldn't believe he was even having this conversation. And least of all that he was having it with the mother of a man that had _feelings_ for him. "I just don't like men, _simple as that._ "

And what reason more would he ever need? It SHOULD have been as simple as that. Nobody can just wake up and change who they are attracted to. Not that Scrooge didn't think Fenton was a handsome, if not awkward, lad. If one were into that sort of type, he supposed. But… it wasn't about that! It had NEVER been about that. It was about the fact Fenton had no regard whatsoever for boundaries. So he was honest and gave the duck a double dose of reality, big deal. It's what he needed to hear!

Mrs. Crackshell, completely ignorant of Scrooge inner monologue, just scoffed at this.

"Scroogey, nobody LIKES men. Have you seen them? They're lazy and disgusting." The woman scratched her back as she stretched, her robe sporting a series of stains from every junk food group imaginable. M'ma was back to looking unimpressed as she eyed the billionaire in front of her. "No, I'm asking why don't you like my son. He's a good kid, and all he ever tries to do is please you."

"He-!" He's overbearing. Aye, but his heart's always in the right place.

"I-!" I don't date men.

"I don't have time for this! I can't believe I'm even having this conversation! _It's madness_!"

Scrooge stepped around the elderly roadblock, threw open the front door, and stepped out.

"It was nice seeing you, do come again. Y'old fart." M'ma called, without enthusiasm, as the door shut.

Scrooge slid into the passenger seat, without saying a word, and Duckworth knew better than to address what had happened inside.

"Home, sir?" was the only question he asked.

"To me bin." was the only answer the old mallard gave. They drove in silence, as Scrooge was very lost in thought, very uncomfortable, and struggling with too many questions he didn't want to think about, now, or ever.

Scrooge McDuck specialized in money and business affairs; affairs of the heart were a whole other story. A story that the old mallard hadn't even given a moment's thought in many, many years. Now he let his mind wander back through the ages, back to the only woman who had ever been able to crack the code and pry open the safe he kept his heart inside.

Suddenly, as the old car pulled up in front of his money-bin, Scrooge was overcome with an overwhelming certainty...

He needed to talk to Goldie.

* * *

Getting the information he needed had always been a specialty of Scrooge's. If he didn't know where to find something, he certainly had the connections to find out who would know. And once inside his office the old mallard set to calling said people. It didn't take long for McDuck to confirm that his old sweetheart was still living up in the mountains where he had seen her last- no shame in calling Ducky Mountains Town Hall for the information. It saved time in the long run, after all- it would have been a waste of time and effort (not to mention money) if the penny pincher had made it all the way there and Goldie had moved again.

With that out of the way, all that was left was to procure himself a ride. Scrooge groaned as he realized his personal plane built by Gyro Gearloose would be no good in the mountains, as most modern day technology relied on global signals to navigate anything. Which meant the old mallard would have to downgrade, which meant he needed a pilot.

Which meant he _really_ needed Launchpad McQuack.

It crossed Scrooge's mind to just hire another pilot- better his chances of getting there in one piece, and all that. But who else would do it for free, or close to it? No one. Besides; this, he felt, was a delicate, private matter, and he did feel better by the thought of asking someone he knew. So, after flipping through the St. Canard phone book, he dialled up the Mallard residence. It rang only twice before there was a click and a clatter, and then a voice.

"Hello, Mallard residence, how may I help you?"

Scrooge didn't answer at first- despite the professional wording, he was obviously speaking to a child.

"Hello, uh..." He fumbled as he searched his memory banks for a name. "Gosalyn, was it?"

"The one and only! ... _Who's this_?" The accusing suspicion in her voice surprised and amused Scrooge. He smirked.

"Scrooge McDuck, we've met a time or two. Listen, Launchpad wouldn't happen t-"

"Scrooge McDuck!" He had to hold the phone away from his ear from her excited outburst. "Aren't you the guy who just bought the Whiffle Boy factory out in that Duckburg place?"

Scrooge was shocked. "How did...?"

"Duh, I'm only following their Fumbler blog, FriendPlace, AND their Squawker feed. So! You and Launchpad are friends, _riiight_? Which makes you and me are friends by association. So here's what I was thinking; friend discounts! Maybe friend freebies? Oh! Or maybe- _heeey_!"

The girl's voice mercifully faded away as the phone was taken from her.

"Eh heh. Sorry about that. Kids, am I right? Drake Mallard, how can I help you?"

The billionaire raised a brow, momentarily wondering just how many lived in that household, before shrugging it off.

"Aye, hello. Is Launchpad around, by any chance?"

"Launchpad? Uh, yeah, I think he's outside. One moment," Scrooge cringed as he had to pull the phone away yet again as the homeowner on the other end shouted off into the distance. "GOSALYN, go tell Launchpad to put the burgers on hold- he's got a phone call!"

Drake cleared his throat before speaking into the phone once more.

"He's coming. Also, just wanted to apologize again for my daughter, Mr. McDuck. She can be a little too free spirited at times."

"Nothing wrong with a lass with spirit, _I suppose._ "

The old mallard was getting tired of the pleasantries. He had called to talk with his pilot, not to prattle on about nothing. The duck on the other line, however, didn't seem to agree as he continued on.

" _Yep yep yeeep._ SO, LP tells me you're the guy that pretty much runs everything in Duckburg, as well as the one who commissions…ahem, _heroes_ to do miscellaneous missions for you. Ya know, we have our own hero here in Saint Canard- the caped crusader and criminal crusher: Darkwing Duck. _Maybe you've heard of him?_ Ever think about outsourcing?"

Tired was quickly turning into annoyed. Scrooge absentmindedly rubbed the spot between his eyes, soothing a headache that promised it was on its way.

"We have a fine super hero already; Gizmoduck. Perhaps you've heard of 'im?"

The fumbling and sputtering on the other end of the line brought Scrooge no pleasure; his taunting had backfired in the worst way, being reminded of that... situation. He was vaguely aware of Drake offhandedly cutting down their local hero. Everyone thought their city had the best super hero, and that was to be expected.

"Well, anyway, keep it in mind, huh? Eh, here's Launchpad."

Finally!

"Well hiya, Mr. McDee! Long time no see! Uh, hear, heh heh." It was, surprisingly even to Scrooge, refreshing to hear an old friend's voice again.

"Aye, it's been both, and too long. Listen, Launchpad, something's come up, and I'm in need of a reliable pilot..."

There was silence over the line for a while.

"Huh, yeah? How goes the search?"

Scrooge's headache grew worse.

" _I was talkin' about you, dunderhead._ "

"Oh, then I guess you've got the right guy!" The pilot chuckled. "But sure, I'm available. Let me change clothes, and I'll be there faster than you can say 'crash landing'. Heh heh!"

"Oh, I don't need remindin' what I'm paying for. Just get here- preferably WITHOUT the crashing."

* * *

And Launchpad was true to his word, as a mere hour later the sound of helicopter blades could be heard outside the money-bin. After informing his butler that he would be gone for a few hours, and to have him watch over the household, Scrooge McDuck made his way outside and towards the aircraft waiting for him. Opening up the passenger door he was greeted by the much younger duck in the driver's seat.

"Going solo, huh? What, no entourage?"

The old mallard slammed the door.

"No children, no. This is a private matter and I didn't want anyone else interfering."

"Oh, private matters, eh? Remind me not to ask any questions, then!" As the helicopter slowly ascended, he added, "Uh... do I get t'know where we're goin', at least? We might get there a little faster if you give me a few hints."

"We're bound for Ducky Mountains. Just get us in range, and I'll instruct yeh from there."

"Aye aye, Mr. McDee! Ducky Mountains it is!"

And so it was. Their aircraft soared high above the bustling city, with its plenitude of building and reaching skyscrapers, which eventually changed to a forest with its dense canopy of trees. Launchpad had been surprisingly good about not asking any questions; about anything at all. He hummed to himself, and said not a word to Scrooge... and that was making the old mallard a little anxious.

"So..." Scrooge called over the sound of the chopper. "Got quite the household out there in St. Canard, haven't ya?" Not that Scrooge particularly cared, one way or another... but conversation was conversation. And it would be nice to know how his old friend had been doing since he moved out of Duckburg.

LP smiled widely, recalling the family he left back home.

"Boy, you can say that again. Always something or another going on around there. From Pelican Island marathons to PTA meetings gone wrong, and whatever other trouble Gos wants to put D- er, _her dad_ through that day." He chuckled. "But she's a good egg. Kinda reminds me of your boys, actually. Can get their beaks into things, but know how to keep things entertaining. Been nice being around since Drake adopted her."

Scrooge McDuck raised a brow at the last bit.

"Adopted, huh? Good on him, then. Though, not used t'hearing about men raising children on their own."

"What can I say, heh, it was love at first fight with those two."

The two fell back into an awkward silence, as Scrooge contemplated just right out asking his former pilot if he and Drake were... _together_. Finally he decided it wasn't any of his business, and he didn't want to know, anyway. Luckily, he didn't have to ask, as Launchpad added,

"Eh, I'm sure it's tough on Gos not havin' a mom figure around. But, and keep this quiet, Drake's girlfriend's been hinting at tying the ol' knot recently, so that might be changin' soon!"

LP certainly hoped so; weddings always meant free cake.

"How's life been treating you back there in Duckburg?" LP continued immediately, changing the subject. He was no doubt supposed to have kept that a secret. "The kids doin' alright? How about Duckworth and Mrs. Beakley? And Gizmoduck! How's he doin'?"

Scrooge shrunk back into his seat at the mention of Gizmoduck, folded his arms over his chest, and turned his gaze out of his window. A stormy expression had settled over his face.

" _The boys are fine._ " He replied, curtly. Launchpad's smile faltered.

"Whoa, alright. Sorry I asked!" LP punctuated this with a light chuckle, to let his former employer know all was good. He knew that expression and body language well- he had been the cause of it multiple times before. It was almost nice not to be the cause of it this time.

So the two flew on in silence. And luckily for McDuck, McQuack was not only the cheapest pilot around, but also one of the fastest too. It didn't take long before the bulky duck recognized his surroundings as he cried out enthusiastically.

"Heeey, I know why this place looks familiar- we're going to see your old girlfriend! Boy, no WONDER you said it was private."

Scrooge groaned.

"None of your crummy jokes, Launchpad. We're going to need you to concentrate on landing." A pause. "And preferably in one piece."

"No problemo. I got it."

Finally spotting the cabin at the top of Ducky Mountains, it was decided that they would land just a little in front of the place. No telling how much air the rickety looking home could take before it blew over. They were just about to land when the sound of something hitting metal could be heard ricocheting off of the helicopter.

"Woah, what's that?" LP asked. "I don't remember the forecast saying anything about hail."

Searching out the passenger window, Scrooge McDuck was on a lookout for just what could have been the cause of the noise. Eyeing the ground, since the sound was coming from the floor of the aircraft, the old mallard beamed as he spotted what was causing the trouble.

"That's because the problem is below, not above."

Noticing the speaker system and controls, McDuck quickly grabbed the microphone as he began to talk into it- his voice booming from the speakers outside the helicopter.

"Hold yer fire, Goldie! It's me, Scrooge!"

Although she couldn't be heard over the roaring chopper blades, Scrooge's old eyes were still sharp enough to see the old gal grin. And, more importantly, lower her gun.

Once the chopper was safely on the ground- four trees down for the count, and a smoking engine- Scrooge hopped out and was greeted with a big hug- which he was not expecting, but accepted it with a hearty laugh, all the same.

"A hug! What's the occasion?" Scrooge questioned. Goldie let him go and regarded him with tired but gleaming eyes. Just as feisty as ever, those eyes were, still so full of her fiery youth.

"Oh Scroogey, it's been so long! I knew you couldn't stay away from my gold forever." she teased. Scrooge chuckled, grabbing his hat to dust it off. It was amazing how quickly his mood had lifted.

"Now, now, Goldie- you won the gold fair an' square. I'm not here for that, I'm here b'cause-"

"Hey there, Goldie!" Launchpad greeted, cheerfully, coming around the chopper. "Long time no see, huh?"

The grey haired woman eyed the taller duck, as she tried to place how they knew each other.

"Oh, you're that lumberjack from last time." She paused. "And the fella that dropped rice on me when I was in Duckburg?"

Scrooge groaned, his jewel of the Klondike had always been good at touching on tender subjects. And the old mallard didn't need to be reminded of an almost wedding fiasco on top of all his current troubles. His plight, however, was ignored as Launchpad laughed.

"Heh, yeeeah. Sorry about that. Funny story, did ya know dropping rice in the city is against the law? Apparently it's bad for the pigeons' health. Who'd a thunk, huh?"

"Oh, YOU'RE bad for their health," McDuck started pushing his pilot back towards the helicopter. "And mine, for that matter. Now, while we're inside YOU'RE going to stay out here and fix that smoking engine."

LP looked towards the sky.

"But it's gonna be dark in a few hours."

"Then that just means ya gotta work faster then, doesn't it?"

Goldie had been watching this scene with mild interest, waiting for the old mallard to return.

"Well somebody woke up on the wrong side of the bed, I see." She lifted her gun as she turned, already heading towards her cabin. "You never could control that temper of yours. Come on, ya old sourpuss, I'll go put the kettle on and we'll see what's _really_ on your mind."

* * *

The tea was hot, the cabin was cozy, and the company was comforting. Slowly, Scrooge could feel the hot beverage melting away some of the trepidations he had about spilling the situation.

"I've come here for... some advice, I suppose." Scrooge spoke up, breaking the silence in the cabin that had previously only been kept at bay by the crackling of the fire. He gazed into his cup as he said this, searching for where to begin.

"Advice, hmm? Business advice, by any chance?" Goldie asked, knowing better. It managed to rouse an amused chuckle from her company.

"No, I almost wish it was. Y'see, I've run into a bit of a pickle with... eh... _misguided affection._ "

This got the old woman's attention as she raised a brow.

"While I know I have the best shot on this side of the globe, I didn't think you'd come here to ask me t'take out the competition. So affection, huh? From you or them?"

"From them, _I assure you._ "

She nodded, not the least bit surprised.

"Alright, so what seems to be the problem here? Another millionairess after your wallet?"

Scrooge rolled his eyes. Her mind was still on the Vanderbucks situation, ey? Well, he supposed it wouldn't be for too much longer.

" _Nay._ More like trouble with an overbearing young la-" McDuck choked on his words, deciding to twist them in the slightest. "Er, ahem, _young lass_ who works for me. I can't exactly fire 'em, nor would I want to- they practically work for pennies. But, I seemed t'have… er… Upset them a wee bit with my spurring."

Goldie took a sip of her tea, and thought about the information she had just been handed.

"So, you've caught the eye of a nice young employee, and they're actin' like a puppy with a sore paw because you turned down their affections. That about right?"

"Yes!" The old mallard was relieved now that it was out on the table. "That's exactly it. I tried talkin' it out with... her, but I think I just made it worse... she won't listen to reason!"

"Scrooge..." The woman across from him paused. "Has it ever crossed your mind, that perhaps a nice, romantic relationship might do that stubborn old heart of yours some good?"

Scrooge couldn't believe what he was hearing. Was no one in this whole entire world on his side? Was no one sane?

"They're less than half my age!" he shouted, nearly spilling his tea. Goldie's calm in the face of his outburst made him feel silly, and it cooled his temper. "I do care about the lad.. y. Young lady. I just don't think I'll ever be able t'care for her the way she seems to think she needs me to."

Goldie rolled her eyes at this, as she stirred the contents of her cup.

"Surprise surprise. Somebody gets keen on ya and your first reaction is to push them away- not even giving it a second thought. _Always_ the bleeding romantic, aren'tcha."

"And what's THAT supposed t'mean?" The old mallard asked, offended.

"It means what it means- all you like to do is keep people away like some old hermit. You pride yourself on being this big ol' business risk taker, and you won't even take risks where it _really_ matters. You're a coward, Scrooge. And you can't even admit it."

"A coward! How dare ye! Scrooge McDuck is many things, but a coward has never been one of 'em!"

The old duck's shouting was loud, but Goldie had to admit that it was sort of nice having another voice around the place for a change. His temper had gotten him so worked up, he wasn't even sitting anymore.

"Would ya calm down? I'm just saying that you're afraid of even trying when it comes to matters of the heart. You're afraid of having your heart broken... and whether I'm partly to blame for that, I don't know. But what I do know, is it's the very reason that you and me never ended up together, Scroogey."

Scrooge McDuck found himself startled to hear those words. It was enough to cool his anger, as he looked at his old flame sadly.

"Now Goldie, y'don't really mean that. We weren't together because that no good Dirty Dan stole my fortune and told me you ran off with it."

Goldie challenged him with a fold of her arms as she set her cup down on the table.

"Oh? And what about after? When you finally realized I was telling the truth."

"If ya recall, I offered yeh my hand then and there."

"You did, and I didn't take it. Sugar, it's obvious we care for each other. But we both want two different things outta life. I want to be free, and you're always out looking for that next adventure. And Scroogey, honey, _I'm all tapped out of adventures._ "

Scrooge slumped back into the chair, and sighed sadly. Goldie was right. They had so much in common, so many traits that fit as snug as puzzle pieces, and yet, when all was said and done, their numbers never quite added up.

"Aye. I suppose we've both been a little cowardly in the face of love and commitment, eh, Goldie?"

The lovely old woman smiled sadly and nodded, offering a half shrug, but no verbal response.

"Well." Scrooge straightened himself in the chair, and readjusted his hat. "I came for advice, and I'm not about t'leave without it. Goldie, I ask you as a dear friend; what should I do now?"

Her cup clattered quietly as she set in on the table, and stood up. She made her way over to Scrooge, sat herself on the arm of his chair, and placed a hand on his. She looked down at him with eyes full of compassion, and perhaps a little regret.

"Listen to your heart, Scrooge. It can be hard, I know; hearts don't adhere to logic or reason. But if you listen close enough, you'd be surprised just how many answers they have to offer."

McDuck chuckled, even as he used his thumb to stroke the hand on top of his.

"Oh Goldie, ol' girl, you've grown into an ol' softie on me."

The woman gave him a peck on his cheek- soft and quick enough that it fluttered by and felt more like a dream.

"I guess time does that to ya. Not that you're in any better shape, hun. _Mister Romeo of Duckburg._ "

And so they spent the rest of their time together, sipping tea and telling stories from their youth. They laughed, they argued over old debts and unfinished conflicts, but most of all they enjoyed the last remaining moments of their togetherness. And when Scrooge finally had to pack up to leave, the sun setting over the trees and mountains, he felt a sense of sadness as he realized yet another chapter of his life was coming to a close. His brain cluttered itself with visions of ' _what ifs'_ and ' _what could have beens'_ , even as she told the old mallard not to be a stranger and visit any old time.

One thing was for certain, as he and Launchpad got into the aircraft and made their way back towards the city, that there would never be another love quite like Glittering Goldie O'Gilt.


	7. Experience Curve

Tuesday morning approached, and Scrooge McDuck was tired. So much so that he had ordered his butler not to water down his coffee, and to add sugar to it- the pain of doing so went straight to his wallet as the old mallard calculated the cost of the demand. Still, it was a must. Scrooge needed to be awake and alert- his day was going to be stressful enough without fatigue added on top of it.

Sleep had not come easily for the billionaire the night before- while his body was ready to call it a day, his mind was not. Memories and fleeting thoughts traversed through his skull at top speeds, making it hard to keep up at all. Sometimes they were thoughts of Goldie and what she had told him: ' _let his heart be his guide'_. What exactly did that mean, besides being as sappy and thick as maple syrup? Scrooge had always been known to go by sheer instincts when it came to how he ran his life. Sometimes by logic and what the numbers told him, other times just by that powerful feeling that would settle in his gut and tell him with all certainty what was right.

However… it seemed his head and guts were at odds on this particular issue. The old mallard's head would repeat the same things over and over: ' _He's young. He's confused. He's a man.'_

Why was it he was able to take risks for treasure, but not on something like this? It was simple! Scrooge had no romantic feelings for the younger duck, and there was no point in arguing about what he didn't feel.

... Right?

Surely he felt something for Fenton Crackshell. A fondness, yes. He had always assumed it was a kind of fatherly (or grandfatherly) feeling, and never once questioned that assumption. Maybe he had been too much of a coward to look at it any other way.

"Pah!" Scrooge glared out of the window, his mind too scrambled to actually see much of anything that was out there. "I am not in love with Fenton Crackshell." he told the window, sternly.

"He has his charms, sure, and he's great with the kids. ... Aye, he'll make a fine husband to a fine young lass one day..."

But Fenton didn't want a lass, he wanted _him_. Of course the idiot did. Because no matter how caring and hard working the lad was, he would always equally be a blockhead. A stubborn mule. He would get one thought locked in his mind and wouldn't let go of it until he made it a reality. McDuck supposed the trait was admirable in its own way, reminded him of himself when he was younger- how he never gave up on accomplishing his own goals.

Scrooge's tired mind wandered to the night he woke up in the hospital- an experience that, to him, felt like another lifetime ago. Just another to add to his growing pile as the years went on. However, time did nothing to dull the memory of his loyal accountant being there when he woke up- asleep on his boss' lap like he had been countless nights before. And the old mallard couldn't deny the warmth he felt inside him from knowing just how much the younger duck had sacrificed to be there with him- how he somehow knew Scrooge didn't want to be alone and locked inside himself.

McDuck vaguely wondered if Fenton was the reason he had woken up at all.

"Perhaps... I owe it to the lad to at least..." Scrooge swallowed the uncertain lump in his throat. " _try._ Time will tell if it's love, and when I'm absolutely certain it's not, I'm sure Fenton will understand."

But he wasn't sure Fenton would understand, and, perhaps he was going senile, but just then he wasn't so sure himself he would come to that conclusion.

Back in the present, and back in his office at his bin, Scrooge sighed- he'd been doing that a lot this past week. The old mallard returned to his chair, and plopped down into it.

"Times sure have changed since I was a lad..."

He pressed the intercom button on his desk, and called for his secretary.

"Mrs. Quackfast? Eh... make a call to the Crackshell residence, if y'would. Tell Fenton I need to have a talk with 'im. ... "

* * *

Fenton gulped as he stared up at the golden dollar sign on the tall structure in front of him. Everything about the bin seemed foreboding that day- a sense he had never quite felt about a place before. The middle aged duck did not want to be there. What he wanted was to be back at home, in his nice trailer, under his covers as he let the rest of his life pass him by. He didn't want to be there, a mere few yards, from the one being that had turned his whole existence into one big emotional wreck.

However, unfortunately for the accountant, fate had different plans for him. or, at least, his dear ol' M'Ma did as she dragged him from his room after receiving a phone call that morning.

"Would ya quit horsing around, Fenton?" His mother had barked. "For pete's sake, _you're heavier than I remember you being!_ "

"But M'ma! I don't wanna go!" Fenton wailed, thrown right back into childhood. He childishly held onto the door frame to halt her progress.

Finally, the old woman gave up, let go, and her son fell to the floor with a thud. She glared down at him, hands on her hips.

"Fenton Crackshell, you're a grown man, for criminy's sake! You get up off that floor, get dressed, and go see your boss right this instant!"

Her stern expression fell as he got to his feet, and began to snivel. As fed up with the boy as she was, he was still her son. She placed her hands on his shoulders, and looked at him, sadly.

" _Sweetie_... listen. Even if you don't do this for yourself, do it for me, huh? If you lose your job, we lose our trailer. Your poor M'ma will starve!"

And so, there he stood, dressed but still dishevelled, un-showered, and nauseous from nerves and eating nothing but ice cream and chips for the past few days, in front of Scrooge McDuck's money-bin. He felt like a frightened rodent in the wake of a hungry alley cat.

Despite every nerve in his body and every instinct zipping through his head telling him to run, Fenton steeled what nerves he had left, and stepped inside. The place was busy as usual, as people muddled around the building doing different chores and not paying the duck any mind one way or another. Fenton made his way deeper into the place, his mind not helping but to imagine the place as a hive as the buzzing around him swarmed his head and created an additional fog. Finally he reached the desk of his boss' secretary, as she regarded the younger mallard with alarm.

"Oh, there you are Mr. Crackshell. Mr. McDuck has been waiting for you." She paused. "Um, are you alright? Is there anything I can do for you?"

Not forcing him to see the guy behind the double doors would have been a great start.

"No, at least nothing I think _you_ can help me with. I guess I'll just… let myself in?"

Quackfast nodded, though still highly concerned for Fenton as he made his way towards the doors. She pressed a button on her desk- a silent alarm Scrooge had installed years ago so she could alert him when people were there to see him. Scrooge, however, didn't need the red light on his phone to tell him that he had company, as the runned downed disheveled head of his accountant peeked inside his office.

"Er, ya wanted to see me, Mr. McDuck?"

'Mr. McDuck'. Surprisingly the old mallard found himself slightly startled by the formality of the name. It seemed… almost wrong, considering why he had called Crackshell there. Scrooge, however, suppressed his uneased feeling as he kept his expression blank- but nonetheless waved the lad into the room.

"Aye, Fenton. There is something I've been meaning to discuss with you. Have a seat."

Well, this was either the "you're fired" talk, or a list of reasons why Gizmoduck couldn't quit. Fenton wasn't sure which he preferred. He stepped into the room, making his way to the desk. Boy, this walk never seemed so long before. Had the room gotten bigger since he had been there last?

Without a word, Fenton finally reached the chair, and slid into it. He sat as straight as a board, hands folded on his lap tightly. To Scrooge, he looked like a prisoner on death row. That wasn't going to make this any easier.

"Fenton... I've had some time to think." Oh boy. Here it went. Scrooge was suddenly surrounded by an unrelenting air of unreality. There was no way he was about to say these things outside of some feverish dream.

Across from him, Fenton nodded slowly, but for once, made no verbal reply. Ah, so this was a fired thing, most likely. What was he going to tell M'ma? Would he even be able to find work again? He vaguely wondered if the position of bean counter was still open…

McDuck, meanwhile, exhaled slowly- preparing himself for what he would say next.

"There comes a time in an old duck's life when he must admit that things aren't always as simple as they seem. That life is far more complicated than things being right and wrong. I've been called many things in my life: _stubborn, an old fool_. But it has come to my attention that I've been a coward as of late too."

Crackshell raised his head at this, looking at his boss in confusion. Before he could say a word, Scrooge continued.

"Fenton, I'm sorry for the things I said the other day. Yes, you can be a wee bit too head strong at times- in many ways it reminds me of myself when I was a young lad. Yet, it was wrong of me to call you selfish." The old mallard paused as he adjusted his glasses, being sure to watch the other across from him intently. "In fact, I don't think I've ever met another duck quite as open and caring as you. Clinginess aside, it's a breath of fresh air in this 'all men for themselves' world."

A smile flickered across Fenton's bill, and was gone as quickly as it had come.

"Well gee, Mr. McDuck, thanks..." the accountant's voice was hoarse still, but better than it had been. The bags under his eyes hadn't gotten any better, though.

"But... if you're apologizing so I'll come back to work, well... I don't think I can do that, even if I wanted to." The thought of his mother shivering in the cold, begging for coins flashed through his mind. "Which I do! It's just..."

"Fenton, I-"

"No, no! Please, let me finish, this is hard for me. You were right about me being selfish, okay? I see that now. It wasn't right of me to just assume you'd wanna date someone like me, just because I was nice to ya."

Scrooge nodded, but said nothing. The lad was right about that, and he wasn't about to dispute it.

"But... the fact remains that... I can't keep working for the guy who keeps reminding me of what a mess up I am. Every time I look at ya, my chest gets all knotted up and I feel like crying all over again. I still care for ya, Scroog- er, _Mr. McDuck_ , and I can't just throw those emotions away, and I can't put my emotions through it any longer! I won't!"

The old mallard felt his heart sink at those words. It was so strange to see just how much his words had affected the duck in front of him. While the maturity of his statements would have been enough to make anyone proud, the fact that it stemmed from Fenton's feelings of feeling worthless was enough to make McDuck cringe.

"Well, " Scrooge began slowly, no longer able to look at the bookkeeper across from him as he closed his eyes with a sigh. "What if I told ya you wouldn't need t'throw away those emotions after all?"

Fenton blinked slowly as he tried to process what he had just heard. The accountant turned his head to the side as if that would somehow let him unravel the mystery before him.

"Well, if you'd pardon my wording, I'd ask ' _what in sam hill are ya talking about, Scroogey_ '?"

The use of the nickname was enough to bring a smirk to McDuck's face. The air of formality was finally gone, and it felt good. Relaxing some in his seat, but making his face serious once more, Scrooge rested his hands against his chest as he spoke once more.

"Just what I said, what if you didn't have t'stop, uh, _with your affections_?'

Fenton stared, speechless. What Scrooge had meant was not what Fenton decided he had meant. Scrooge was willing to put up with his clinginess and misplaced affections, if it meant he would come back to work? Did he really need Gizmoduck that much? Was he really that valuable an accountant?

"That... I... I'm flattered, Scroogey, really I am! But that doesn't solve that whole, unrequited love heartbreak scenario, and I told you, I can't keep doing it..." Now it was his boss who wasn't taking into consideration others' feelings, sheesh!

"No, Fenton..." Scrooge shook his head. He was really going to make him say it, wasn't he? "what I'm trying to say, is that your... love... doesn't need to go unrequited anymore. I guess I've decided I'm willin' to try... eh... whatever it is you call this, _situation_."

The old mallard was bewildered by the glare he was given, as the middle aged duck leapt from his chair and slammed his fists onto McDuck's desk.

"I knew you could be a lil' harsh at times, but how could you be so cruel, sir? To think I'd let you play some sorta emotional mind game with me just 'cause you think I'm naive and don't know what this is REALLY about."

It was McDuck's turn to throw the lad a stern glare, as he straightened up in his chair.

"Oh, and just what IS this really about, then?"

Just what in the blazes was the duck going on about now?

Fenton, however, wasn't going to back down from the challenge as he crossed his arms over his chest.

"I know you need Gizmoduck, but to go as far as pretending to put up with me just so you can get somebody to guard your money-bin? For shame, sir, _for shaaaame._ "

Scrooge rubbed his temples, not believing what was happening. This was not how he had imagined this confession session going at all. Sheesh. Tell the lad you're open for a relationship, and then he goes and thinks you're playing him like an old bagpipe!

"Would ya put your ego aside for a moment and actually LISTEN for once in your life?" It was McDuck's turn to stand as he hopped out of his chair to pace back and forth. " _Oooh_ , you always have t'go and make things more complicated than they have t'be! What do I have to say? What do ya want from me, then? To go on my knee and BEG for you to come back? For yeh to open your arms and accept me as _your special sweetheart?_ I won't do it, I refuse!"

He stopped his pacing, as he turned back towards the lad- waving his finger wildly in his direction.

"Now YOU listen to me. I have thought long and hard over the past couple days about this, _about you_. I won't say I'm in love. _I can't._ No matter how YOU feel fer me, I can't just feel something like that outta the blue. But I HAVE come to realize that I do care for ya, lad. Enough that…"

Scrooge's temper was beginning to fade, as a sense of embarrassment washed over him over what he was about to admit.

"Enough that I'm willing t'open myself up to… to this. To this thing between us."

Fenton went back to staring, but this time, his vision was slowly becoming completely blurred by the tears welling up in them. He hastily wiped them on the back of his sleeve- he'd done enough crying that week to hold him for the next year.

"You mean... we... you'll... I..."

Scrooge tried to run, but he wasn't quite quick enough- Fenton darted forward, scooped him up, and spun him around, before hugging him to himself and peppering his face with kisses.

"Oh, Scroogey, you just made me the happiest duck in Duckburg!"

"Fenton..."

"No, the world!"

"Fenton!"

"Maybe even in the entire universe!"

"Fenton! Let go of me, ya smell like unwashed knickers."

The accountant was brought back, and stopped the barrage of kisses, chuckling sheepishly and letting his captive boss go.

"Whoops, guess I got a little carried away there. Again."

Scrooge fixed up his shirt- it having gotten untidied from Fenton's handlings. Despite the ordeal, the old mallard smiled.

"Aye, just a little." McDuck cleared his throat, looking stern as he made his way to his chair once more- looking like the professional business owner he tried his best to be. "NOW, I think maybe you should consider goin' home and cleaning yourself up so that _you-know-who_ can do his shift."

Scrooge paused as he made sure his… _special companion_ was following.

"And after that, well… how do ya feel about picnics, Fenton?"

The middle aged mallard gasped, his eyes becoming wide in delight and astonishment- McDuck would even say they sparkled with stars.

" _I'd say they're my absolute favorite!_ "

"Good, then it'll be _your_ treat then."

"I wouldn't have it any other way, Scroogey!" Fenton replied, his happy tone a bit at odds with the scratchy condition of his voice. He was already on his way out the door, walking backwards as he talked.

"I'll get on that, right away! You can count on me! Consider your bin, protected!"

He was now out the door, but he still called back.

"And that picnic paid for!"

Scrooge, despite the mild shock to his system he had just taken, chuckled.

"Well, Scrooge, old boy... no one can call yah a coward now."

There was a crash from somewhere else in the building, a few startled screams, and Fenton shouting "I'm okay!"

Scrooge groaned, and rolled his eyes. "...But, of course, 'fool' isn't completely out of the question."


End file.
